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GREYFRIARS CHURCHYARD AND EDINBURGH CASTLE. 



Poets and Poetry 



OF 



The Covenant 



COMl'ILEl), WITH 

An Intrjoduction 

BY 

THE REV. DAVID MCALLISTER, D. D., LL. D. 



""^N 201894 

% ij ^ ;^- 
ALLEGHENY, PA. ' 

COVENAiSTTER PUBLISHING CO. 
37 Federal Street 

1894 






.0^^ ^ 



Copyright of Covenanter Publishing Co., 1894. 



TO 

ADAM B. TODD, 

WHO, AS ONE OF THE POETS OF THE COVENANT, 
AND AS AUTHOR OF "HOMES, HAUNTS AND 
BATTLEFIELDS OF THE COVENANTERS," 
HAS RENDERED MOST VALUABLE SER- 
VICE TO THE SAME GLORIOUS 
CAUSE OF CIVIL AND RELIG- 
IOUS LIBERTY FOR WHICH 
THE HEROES AND MAR- 
TYRS OF THE COVE- 
NANT SUFFERED 
AND DIED, 

This Volume 

IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 



PREFACE. 

A volume of -'Poetry of the Covenant" had been in the 
mind of the compiler for nearly forty years. His admiration 
and study of '• The Cameronian Dream," when but a college 
student, first suggested such a volume. Acquaintance at a 
later day with George Gilfillan's " Martyrs, Heroes and Bards 
of the Scottish Covenant," and Mrs. Menteath"s " Lays of 
the Covenant," and with a number of other spirited poems 
copied into the monthly magazine, "The Covenanter," pub- 
lished in Philadelphia by the Rev. James M. Willson, intensi- 
fied the desire for such a compilation. But not until the 
work of preparation for publication was begun did the com- 
piler dream of the wealth of poetry which the Covenanters 
and their times had called forth. The book happily styled 
'• The Treasury of the Covenant," by the Rev. J. C. Johnstoa, 
of Dunoon, Scotland, published at Edinburgh in 1887, was a 
revelation of the rich resources of this field of literature. 
But careful search in both Glasgow and Edinburgh, in 1888, 
and again and more particularly in 1892, failed to bring to 
light many of the books referred to in that volume. 

An acquaintance (since ripened into Avarm and enduring- 
friendship) first formed with a kindred spirit, Mr. A. B. 



VI PREFACE. 

Todd, of Cumnock, in a visit through Martyrland in the sum- 
mer of 1892, opened up the treasures of this realm of sacred 
poetry in their wide extent. No other man is so thoroughly 
versed in the *' Poets and Poetry of the Covenant" as this 
author. His study of the times of persecution; his admira- 
tion of the character of the heroes of the Covenant; his de- 
votion to the principles for which multitudes of them laid 
down their lives; his frequeut visits to the scenes of conflict 
and martyrdom in preparation for writing his admirable de- 
scriptions of the " Homes, Haunts, and Battlefields of the Cov- 
enanters;" and his own poetic sympathies and labors, have 
brought him into most intimate fellowship with all who have 
swept the strings of the Covenant harp. While materials 
for this volume have been drawn from ever}^ available source, 
as indicated all along with due acknowledgments, it is to Mr. 
Todd that we are indebted for many of the poems and for a 
large part of the biographical sketches of the following- 
pages. Special mention should also be made of the help of 
Mr. John Tibb}', of Sharpsburg, Pa., to the free use of whose 
large and valuable library the compiler was made most cordial- 
ly welcome. 

Should the present volume find a reception such as the 
merits of its gathered treasures certainly deserve, another 
series of kindred poems from the same rich and inexhausted 
field may be published at a future day. It was judged best 
not to insert in this volume any anonymous poem, or any of 
which the authorship is not certainly known, and of the writer 
of which at least a brief biographical sketch could not be given. 
.Accordingly, a number of beautiful poems, collected during 
the preparation of this volume, are reserved for further in- 
vestigation and a possible second series of Poets and Poetry 
of the Covenant. 



CONTENTS. 

v\r.K. 

Tiitroduction, . . ix 

.Tauie.s ( iraliame, Memoir of, '-i 

Tril)ute to the Covenanters . . 7 

David ^tai'lieth 'SUnr, Memoir of, 10 

Covenanters' Night Hymn, 12 

James Hyslop, Memoir of, 17 

The Cameron ian's Dream, 25 

A Scottish Sacramental Sabbath, 28 

Mrs. Harriet Stuart Menteath, Sketch of, :}G 

Introduction to Lays of the Kirk and Covenant, .... :]9 

The ;^rartyr's Grave, 47 

Peden at the Grave of Cameron, 49 

The Signing of the Covenant •">'^> 

The Martyrs of Wigt on, ■"'•^ 

Patrick Hamilton '2 

The Deatlibed of Rutlierford, 78 

The Martyr's Child, >'^1 

James Dodds, Memoir of, ^'^ 

Battle Song of the Pentlands, 117 



Viii C 01^ TENTS. 

PAGE; 

Tlie Death of James (kithrie, 121 

Cargill Taken Prisoner at Covington Mill, 128 

The Dove and the Ruin, 132 

The Aged Covenanter, 13G 

The Battle of Airsnioss, 141 

The Martyr of Priesthill 148 

The Christian Exile, 1(17 

Adam E. Todd, Sketch of, 17;! 

Peden the Prophet's (i rave, 177 

^fartyrland in August, 179 

Jolni Stuart BUickie, Sketch of, 185 

Sonnet on Alexander Peden, 187 

The Covenanter's Lament, 188 

p]legy on the Death of James Pen wick, I'JO 

The Song of Jenny Geddes, 11)4 

(ieorge Paulin. Sketch of, 107 

The Covenanters, 1S)9 

A Visit to Priesthill 202 

The Covenant Banner, 205 

The Covenant Sangs, 207 

The Rev. James Murray, Memoir of, 209 

A Conventicle in Snow Time, 212 

The Banner of the Covenant, 215 

The Black Saturday, 218 

Dr. Horatius Bonar, Memoir of, 222 

I'he Martyr's Hymn, 22:5 

The Martyr's Grave, 225 

iriigh C. Wilson, Sketch of, 227 

Covenant Times, 228 

John Wright, Memoir of, 2:>2 

The Battle of Pentland Hills, 2:J3 



CONTENTS. IX 

PAGE. 

The Rev. Henry Scott IMddoll, :Memoir of, 237 

Rullion Cireen, 240 

Allan Cunningham, Memoir ol', 243 

The Downfall of Dalzell, 246 

William McDowall, Memoir of, 250 

The Nithsdale ^Fartyrs, 2,")! 

John Struther^i, Memoir of, 25') 

Admonition and Warning, 258 

Martyrland and Its Heroes, 200 

>[arion Paul Aird, Memoir of, 204 

Tlie Martyrs' Graves, 266 

Roi.ert Allan, ^iemoir of, 2G8 

The Covenanter's Lament, 270 

The Twa Martyrs' Widows, 272 

Hugh Brown, ^femuir of, 274 

The Martyrdom of .fohn Brown, . 276 

The Rev. James (i. Small, ]*renu)ir of, 280 

The Land of the iNIartyrs, . 281 

William McComb, Memoir of, 285 

Our Fathers — Where are They ? 285 

Prof. John Veiteh, Sketch of, 288 

■•> Andrew Hislop, 290 

James Hogg, Memoir of, 293 

The Land of the Covenant. 296 

Tlie Covenanter's Scatluld Hymn 299 



INTROBUCTIOX. 

The natural scenery of Scotland is of itself sufficient to 
quicken into vigorous exercise the gifts of the poet. Moun- 
tain and loch, moorland and glen, inland valley and sea- 
girt coast — all conspire to stir the soul that is capable of 
deep and fervid emotion. Added to the rare beauties of 
her natural scenery are the tales and traditions of her po- 
litical history — the records of as noble a struggle as any 
country ever made for civil liberty. The story of the Scot- 
tish chiefs who fought for the independence of the nation 
is a household song of freedom. Who has not felt the in- 
spiration of the lines : 

" Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled ! 
Scots wham Bruce has often led ! 
Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to victory!" 

And no wonder that Mary Howitt, like Burns himself, has 
tuned her harp to this lofty key : 

" O wild traditioned Scotland, 
Thy briery burns and braes 



xii IKTKODUCTION. 

Are full of pleasant memories 

And tales of other days. 
Thy story -haunted waters 

In music gush along ; 
Thy mountain glens are tragedies, 

Thy heathery hills are song.'' 

It was such thoughts as these that led Henry Ward 
Beecher to speak of Scotland, as a " land, which, though 
small, is as full of memories as the heaven is full of stars, 
and almost as bright. There is not the most insignificant 
piece of water that does not make my heart thrill with some 
story of heroism, or some remembered poem ; for not only 
lias Scotland had the good fortune to have had men that 
knew how to make heroic history, but she has reared those 
bards who have known how to sing her histories." 

But natural scenery and the records of an heroic strug- 
gle for civil liberty are not of themselves sufficient to at- 
tune the poet's harp to its highest and noblest strains. We 
only reach the climax of a country's poetical inspiration 
when to struggles for national independence and civil free- 
dom is added the long conflict, amid the fires of fierce per- 
secution, for freedom of conscience and liberty of religious 
faith. High as are the names of Bruce and Wallace, and 
glorious as is the record of their achievements, there are 
other names, unknown to the world's wide fame, that 
nevertheless exercise a deeper and more potent influence 
on the generations of posterity, as they come and go, and 
that will increase in their moulding power to the end of 
time. We must not only say with Mary Howitt, 

" Land of the Bruce and Wallace! 
Where patriot hearts have stood," 



INTRODUCTION. xiii 

but taking a loftier step Ave must add, 

" And for their country and their faith 

Like water poured their blood I 
Where wives and little children 

Were steadfast to the death, 
And graves of martyr warriors 

Are in the desert heath." 

Cowper ill the Fifth Book of "The Task," has recog- 
nized in his most exalted verse, this " brighter prize" for 
which the martyr struggles : 

" Patriots have toiled, and in their country's cause 

Bled nobly ; and their deeds, as they deserve, 

Receive proud recompense. We give in charge 

Their names to the sweet lyre. Th' historic muse, 

Proud of the treasure, marches with it down 

To latest times ; and sculpture in her turn 

Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass 

To guard them, and to immortalize her trust. 

But fairer wreaths are due, though never paid. 

To those, who, posted at the shrine of Truth, 

Have fallen in her defence. A patriot's blood, 

Well spent in such a strife, may earn, indeed, 

And for a time insure to his loved land 

The sweets of liberty and equal laws ; 

But martyrs struggle for a brighter prize. 

And win it with more pain. Their blood is shed 

In confirmation of the noblest claim — 

Our claim to feed upon immortal truth, 

To walk with God, to be divinely free, 

To soar and to anticipate the skies. 

Yet few remember them. They lived unknown 

Till persecution dragged them into fame, 

And chased them up to heaven. Their ashes flew— 

No marble tells us whither. With their names 



xiv INTRODUCTION. 

No bard embalms and sanctifies his song; 
And history, so warm on meaner themes, 
Is cold on this. She execrates, indeed. 
The tyranny that doomed them to the fire, • 
But gives the glorious sufferers little praise." 

What Cowper lamented in bis day, that with the names 
of these old heroes of the Covenant " no bard embahns and 
sanctifies his song," is at length no longer true. The day 
has come when history and poetry give the glorious sufferers 
their well deserved praise. The national lyre of Scotland 
has within the present century sounded its sweetest notes 
in honor of the men who " lived unknown till persecution 
dragged them into fame." 

It is this most exalted of all poetic inspirations that has 
called forth the " Lays of the Covenant" collected into this 
volume. For many years the memory of the Covenanters 
was traduced ; their character was misrepresented ; their 
motives were not understood. Fiction and a range of 
poetry, not the highest, were the effective implements by 
which they were portrayed in gloomy and repellant color- 
ing. They were exhibited as sour and morose "fanatics." 
They were sometimes conceded to be " enthusiasts," but of 
a wild and unbalanced kind. During the closing years of 
the 17th century that witnessed a triumph of their prin- 
ciples, and during the long stretch of the succeeding century, 
the muse of Scotland failed to catch the fire and glow of 
the memories of that magnificent '* Fifty Years' Struggle" 
for both civil and religious liberty, in which men of whom 
the world was not worthy had suffered and died: But 
with the opening of the nineteenth century James Grahame, 
the author of the poem styled " The Sabbath," caught the 
inspiration that had so long lain dormant in Scottish his- 



INTKODUCTIOX. xv 

tory and in the Scottish heart. To him belongs the hon- 
or of sounding "the key-note," as George Gillillan has 
so happily expressed the tlionght, " of those many melodies 
of praise which have saluted their memories since." 

What a fine illustration is this long-delayed tribute to 
the memory of the Covenanters of the seminal life of glorious 
and inspiring deeds ! It is another realization of the truth 
of the 72d Psalm, that magnificent Messianic ode which 
anticipates the full establishment of the Kingdom of Christ 
as the acknowledged Ruler of the nations of the earth : 

" Of corn a handful in the earth 
On tops of mountains high. 
With prosperons fruit shall shake, like trees 
On Lebanon that be.'- 

The seed is sown on cold and lonely mountain heights, 
where storms rage and tempests smite rock and tree with 
desolating fury. And after long waiting there seems to be 
no fruitage or harvest from the tearful sowing. But at 
length the seminal life asserts itself. And the little hand- 
ful of seed waves in the abundant increase like the cedars 
of Lebanon. The seed of the Covenanters' struggle for civil 
and religious liberty was sown during the stormiest times 
of Scottish history, and often watered as it fell in moorland 
and glen and on mountain top with tears and blood. Ear- 
ly fruitage of freedom was borne, but with no fitting reward 
to the men Avho paid tlie costly price of the victory. For 
over a full hundred years the tribute of poetry was in sub- 
stance — 

" Stern, rushing upon Clavers' spears. 
They won the freedom, and the scorn, of after years." 

And history, for the long period, with the exception of a 



xvi mTRODUCTIOISr. 

few writPi'S, said at most in a negative tone of praise, as 
Thomas Carlyle lias expressed the thought : " Alas, is it 
not too true what is said, that many men in the van do al- 
ways, like Russian soldiers, march into the ditch of Schweid- 
nitz, and fill it up with their dead bodies, that the rear 
may pass over them dry shod and gain the honor ? How 
many earnest, rugged Cromwells, Knoxes, poor peasant 
Covenanters, wrestling, battling for very life in rough, miry 
places, have to struggle, and suifer and fall, greatly censur- 
ed, bemired — before a beautiful Revolution of eighty-eight 
can step over them in official pumps and silk stockings 
with universal three-times three !" 

But the tribute so long due has at last been brought with 
its accumulation of interest, and the rich offering, in its 
wealth of bloom and fragrance, has now been laid for well 
nigh a hundred years upon the tombs of the heroes and 
martyrs of the Covenant. And we venture the prediction 
that ages to come will add still richer ofierings to their 
memory, with tributary streams pouring in from every land 
in which the blessings won by their sufferings and death 
shall in due time be enjoyed. 

In addition to such complete songs and poems as are. 
found in this volume in memory of the Covenanters, occa- 
sional passages in other writings, like the one already 
quoted from Cowper, deserve to be noticed here. The fol- 
lowing lines from the First Book of Wordsworth's Excur- 
sion, Avritten of " The Wanderer," must not be omitted : 

'• Thus informed, 
He had small need of book*; for many a tale 
Traditionary, round the mountains hung, 
And many a legend, peopling the dark woods, 
N'ourished imagination in her growth, 



INTKODUCTIOX. xvii 

And gave the mind that apprehensive power 

By which she is made (piick to recognise 

The moral properties and scope of things. 

But eagerl}^ he read, and read again, 

Whate'er.the minister's old shelf supplied; 

The life and death of martyrs, who sustained. 

With will inflexible, those fearful pangs 

Triumphantly displayed in records left 

Of persecution, and the Covenant-times, 

Whose echo rings through Scotland to this hour!" 

Ill harmony with this line passage is the following son- 
net from Wordsworth's pen : 

♦ 

" When Alpine vales thew forth a suppliant cry. 

The majesty of England interposed, 

And the sword stopped ; the bleeding wounds were closed. 
And Faith preserved her ancient purity. 
IIow little boots that precedent of good. 

Scorned, or forgotten, thou canst testify, 
For England's shame, O sister realm I From wood. 

Mountain, and moor, and crowded street, where lie 
The headless Martyrs of the Covenant, 

Slain by compatriot-Protestants, that draw 
From Councils, senseless as intolerant. 

Their warrant. Bodies fall by wild sword-law, 

But who would force the soul tilts with a straw 
Against a champion cased in adamant." 

Letitia E. Landon, too, has laid her tribute on the graves 
of the Covenanters: 

'' There came a shadow o'er the land, and men 
Were hunted by their fellow-men like beasts, 
And the sweet feelings of humanity 
Were utterly forgotten; the white head.^ 
Darkened with blood and dust, was often laid 



xviii INTPvODUCTION. 

Upon the murdered infant, for the sword 

Of pride and cruelty was sent to slay 

Those w^ho in age would not forego the faith — 

The faith they had grown up in. I w^as one of these : 

How could I close the Bible I had read 

Beside my dying i.nother, which had given 

To me and mine such comfort? But the hand 

Of the oppressor smote us/"' 

Nor must we forget the impromptu stanza of Robert 
Burns, thrown ofl'on the inspiration of the moment, when 
he heard a gentleman acquaintance sneer at the memory 
of these Covenanter heroes, and term the Solemn League 
and Covenant " ridiculous and fanatical :" 

"The Solemn League and Covenant 

Cost Scotland blood — cost Scotland tears : 
But it seal'd Freedom's sacred cause — 
If thou'rt a slave, indulge thy sneers." 

This devotion to the cause of civil and religious liberty, 
celebrated in these poems, has a world-wide reach of in- 
fluence, and is an example for all time. AVordsworth 
speaks of the English martyrs as men who 

" Did bathe their hands in fire, 
So to declare their conscience satisfied : 
Nor for their bodies would accept release; 
But, blessing God and praising Him, bequeathed 
With their last breath, from out the smouldering tlame, 
The faith which they by diligence had earned, 
And through illuminating grace received. 
For their dear countrymen, and all mankind. 
O high example, constancy divine."" 

With such "high example" and " constancy divine" the 



INTRODUCTION. xix 

coutendings of the Scottish heroes and martyrs speak to 
'• all mankind," and speciallyto "their dear countrymen," 
and to the friends of truth and righteousness in America 
to-day. And this volume will utterly fail of its main pur- 
pose, if the many beautiful poems garnered within its covers 
do not aid in cultivating in the souls of at least some of tl:e 
men and women, older and younger, in our own fair land, 
the same heroic devotion to every cause that, amid pop- 
lar opposition, maintains the honor of the King of kings. 
The same principles in substance for which the old Cove- 
nanters contended are the principles that must be main- 
tained in the great moral controversies of the present times. 
And the same heroic stuff of which the old martyrs were 
made is the very material needed in the make-up of the 
Christian Reformer in Amercia as well as Great Britain 
to-day. 

Let us briefly sketch the leading principles for which 
the heroes and martyrs of these songs of the Covenant con- 
tended : 

I. The supreme authority of God's AVord in all the re- 
lations of human life. In the church, as one of their own 
number said, " they took their pattern, not from Rome, 
not even from Geneva, but from the blessed Word of God." 
They held that the state was bound to regulate all its af- 
fairs by the same law of ultimate authority. The Bible 
was to them a national as well as an ecclesiastical law-book. 
Kings and noblemen and lowlier citizens were all under 
its obligations in the sphere of political and civil life. And 
the family, too, needed God's Word, as the daily guide of the 
domestic circle. The place of the Bible in Covenanter 
families ; the singing of a portion of Bible Psalmody and 
the reading of a chapter of the Scriptures every morning 



XX INTKODUOTION. 

and evening at the household altar, with the entire mem- 
bership of the family gathered about, brought all domestic 
affairs under the acknowledged authority and educative in- 
fluence of the divine law. Even when the father and the 
older sons were driven by the blood-hounds of persecution 
to hidings in dens and caves of the earth, or amid the sol- 
itudes of the mountains and moors, the mother or an elder 
daughter would keep the fire of the household altar bright, 
ly burning in the sorrowing yet not darkened home. 

At the very basis of all this was the recognized right 
and responsibility of every individual to interpret the 
divine law for himself. Social bodies had to reach their 
interpretations for themselves ; but no interpretation of 
God's Word by either church or state could overturn the 
Protestant principle, or rather the principle of the true 
Christian religion, that every man must give account of 
himself to God. But with the authority of God himself 
acknowledged as supreme for all, in every relation of life, 
a firm foundation was laid for the balance of liberty and 
law. Rights of conscience on the one hand, and a just and 
righteous authority in both church and state, on the other 
hand, here find their full security. Not the will of any 
man, pope, or king, or president ; not the will of any body 
of men, presbytery, general assembly, house of commons, 
house of representatives, or senate ; not the will of the 
millions that make up the sovereign people of the might- 
iest nation on earth, can be, according to this old Covenanter 
and Scriptural principle, of supreme and ultimate authority 
in any of the relations of human life. Church courts and 
civil legislatures may help wisely and opportunely to in- 
terpret and apply the law which God himself has given, and 
secure its beneficent effects ; but over all human legislators 



mTRODUCTIOX. xxi 

is the Divine Lawgiver whose authoritative Avill is revealed 
for man's every need in tlie Holy Scriptures. Only by 
such a Law and such a Lawgiver can individual and family 
and church and state be regulated in harmony with each 
other and for the good of all. 

2. The kingship of Jesus Christ. This followed of ne- 
cessity from the acceptance of the former principle. Tak- 
ing the Bible as of ultimate and supreme authority, the 
Covenanters learned that Jesus Christ has been made Head 
over all things ; that he is King of nations as well as King 
of Zion, and this in truth and reality, and not in some 
figurative and shadowy and unreal way. The Bible they ac- 
cepted as the law-book of this King. And they sought to 
have Christ himself practically acknowledged and honored 
as King in both church and state. And no principle could 
be such a safeguard for the independence of the church. 
Both the popish idea, which would enslave the church to 
a frail human pontiff, blasphemously claming for himself 
the infallibility which alone could justify the submission 
of men's consciences to his sovereign will; and the Erastian 
idea, which would subject the church to the civil ruler or 
the civil po^ver, the sphere of which is entirely separate 
and distinct from that of the church, are cut up by the 
very roots by the application of this principle of the king- 
ship of Jesus Christ. And in like manner the truth of his 
kingship over the state is the most effective means of saving 
the political being from the tyranny of popish claims of su- 
premacy over nations and their rulers, and of securing for all 
citizens and subjects of civil government the most free and 
just and enlightened system of legislation possible — that 
which is based upon Christ's own " perfect law of liberty." 
Whatever views the old Covenanters held in favor of the 



xxii INTKODUCTION. 

union of the church under Christ her King with the state un- 
der the same divine Ruler, they would never surrender the 
independence of the former to the latter, nor justify any as- 
sumption of tyrannical power by either the one or the other. 
The essential principle which they maintained, and which 
holds in every land to-day, is the subjection of both church 
and state, each as a moral agent, with moral character and 
accountability, and each in its own distinct and indepen- 
dent and yet interrelated sphere of moral conduct, under 
the moral law of God himself, administered by Christ as 
at once Head of Zion and Governor among the nations. 

8. The duty of social public covenanting on the part 
of both the church and the nation. This principle of a 
religious covenant was derived also from the Scriptures, 
and this was the principle and practice which gave the Cov- 
enanters their name. Chief among the points to be care- 
fully noted in the duty of covenanting are the following : 

(1.) The covenant engagements are public. The oath 
of the compact or covenant is openly sworn. The engage- 
ments and oaths of a secret society are at the farthest pos- 
sible remove from those of a true covenant. The former 
are deeds of darkness. They are a travesty upon all that 
is sacred and holy. They dread the light, by which their 
sacrilegious and even blasphemous character would be ex- 
posed. But a church's or a nation's covenant is an open 
and a public document, and the men and women who take 
upon themselves its comprehensive engagements with the 
solemnity of an appeal to God can challenge in broad 
daylight the investigation of the world. 

(2.) Such a covenant as the National Covenants of Scot- 
land of 1580, 1590, and again of 1638, is virtually a written 
compact or constitution of civil government. This docu- 



INTRODUCTION. xxiii 

iiient prepared tlie way for the fornmlated fund a mental 
laws of political organizations, of which the written consti- 
tutions of the American colonies and commonwealths and 
of the government of the United States itself are the mt st 
illustrious examples. A national covenant is a bond of 
loyalty between citizens among themselves, and between 
them and the rulers who exercise authority over them. It 
is framed in view of enemies and dangers to the nation's 
welfare and life. And in the days of the old Covenanters, 
the arch enemy of civil and religious liberty was Popery, 
of which Prelacy was in many respects an imitator. The 
covenant was a mutual bond, therefore, of loyal and zeal- 
ous vigilance against the wiles and assaults of the common 
enemy. Such an open and avowed bond of patriotism and 
loyalty is what true Americans need to-day, rather than 
the secret combinations of the lodges, against the same old 
enemy of all free institutions in both church and state. 

(3.) It is pre-eminently a religious engagement. It ac- 
cepts God's revealed will as the standard of duty, keeps 
the glory of God and the honor of Christ as King continual- 
ly in view, and makes the Omniscient Jehovah, the Search- 
er of Hearts, a witness and party to the entire transaction. 
The engagement is entered into in the Lord's name, and with 
an avowed determination on the part of the covenanters, 
in the words of the deed of 1638, "to be good examples to 
others of all godliness, soberness, and righteousness, and of 
every duty we owe to God and man." 

This principle of public covenanting by nations and by 
churches is the most practical and far-reaching of social 
principles, and will, when accepted and carried into effect 
by Christians generally, do much toward settling all the 
great problems of church and state. It is the idea of a 



xxiv IXTRODUCTIOX. 

social compact and of tlie sacredness of contracts carried to 
its highest development. 

An agreement in reference to any special matter, of great- 
er or lesser importance and between whatever contracting 
parties, is held peculiarly sacred. From the simplest 
verbal contract of sale to a formulated treaty between two 
of the great nations of the earth, the terms of the compact 
are held to be imperatively binding. 

In like manner a basis of agreement in any social organ- 
ization for any specific lawful purpose, such as carrying 
forward the work of temperance, or other kindred w^ork of 
reform, must always be regarded as peculiarly obligatory 
upon all who accept the terms of the brotherly compact. 
Such a compact or such articles of agreement, in business 
life, or for any specific benevolent or reform work, must be 
in accord with God's moral law^ ; but they need not and are 
not intended to cover the sum of the moral duties of the 
members of the association in any of the necessary and 
essential relations of human life. 

But a true social covenant is an agreement between the 
members of one of God's own moral creatures, especially the 
church or the nation, with the Divine Author of that moral 
being as Himself a party to the contract, and His law as the 
acknowledged standard in all the relations and duties of the 
social moral person that enters into the compact. A nd this 
covenant cannot limit the obligations of the covenanters to 
any specific work, how^ever important it may be. In a true 
covenant the covenanters say with Israel of old in the cov- 
enant at Mount Sinai: "All that the Lord hath said \\{]\ 
we do and be obedient." (Ex.24: 7. See also Ex. 19: 
8; 24: 3; Deut. 5 : 27-29; Josh. 24: 24; Neh. 10: 29.) 
The moral person of God's own creation is in this respect 



INTJIODUCTION^. xxv 

entirely different from a voluntary society. The latter may 
be organized for some specific work, broader or narrower 
as the case may be. The law of such voluntary effort is that 
the work must be in harmony with the divine law. This 
work need not be all that the Lord has commanded. But 
God's own creature, the state or the church, is not at lib- 
erty to limit its sphere of duty as if it were a voluntary 
society. It is bound to accept the divine law in all the 
fullnes of its requirements in that sphere of human life. 
And this is the essence of the principle of covenanting, that 
the church or the nation which enters into covenant shall 
bind itself in the covenant to make the fullest and completest 
application possible of the law of its Covenant God. 

It is sometimes said that this principle of the Covenant- 
ers Avill do for the millennium, but not for our times. 
This is a vindication of the principle. What is to be in 
the millennium ought now to be. And nothing short of 
the acceptance and practical carrying out of this principle 
will ever cause the millennium to dawn upon our world. 
To this principle the followers of Christ must come — the 
acceptance of his will as law, and the full and fearless ap- 
plication of it in every department of human life according 
to the binding terms of the sworn covenant or fundamental 
compact of the social body, whether it be church or state. 
And when the followers of Christ thus enter into ar.d 
faithfully keep their covenant with each other and with 
their Lord, both in the sphere of national life and in tha 
of the church, the kingdom of heaven will be established 
on earth. 

4. Still another principle of the conduct of the Covenan- 
ters in their struggle was that of dissent and separation from 
the evils of their day, especially from the immoral admin- 



xxvi I>rTRODUCTION. 

istratioii of church aud state. It was at this point and on 
this account that the fires of persecution were kindled again&t 
them. Had they fallen in with the indulgence in the church, 
and accepted the subjection of her government to the 
Erastian and Prelatic principle ; and had they hushed all 
testimony against the covenant-breaking House of Stuait, 
and the usurpations and tyranny of that selfish and unprin- 
cipled civil power, and incorporated with the corrupt admin- 
istration of the government of the nation, they Avould have 
been left unmolested. But their public and practical dis- 
sent, and their separation from the ecclesiastical and civil 
immoralities of their day, brought down upon them the 
wrath of the authorities in both church and state. They 
appealed to the obligations of the National Covenant and 
the Solemn League and Covenant, in loyalty to which they 
ordered their whole life and walk and conversation. They 
d id not act the part of rebels. They did not, in that struggle, 
even seek an amendment of fundamental law. They were 
in devoted allegiance to the constitutional principles of the 
government as they were. Their dissent, during the strug- 
gle preceding the Revolution Settlement of 1688, was not 
from an immoral constitution of civil government. After 
that settlement or adoption of a new constitutional principle 
wdiich subjected the church to the state, their dissent was 
from the fundamental law of the nation. But during the 
days of persecution the main elements in the nation's c( n- 
stitution Avere the National Covenant and the Solemn 
League and Covenant. Their dissent, therefore, was from 
the practical administrative perversion of this authorita- 
tive constitutional law. They would have no part in that 
antagonism to the supreme law of the land, and the 
divine law on which the nation's law was founded. 



INTRODUCTION. xxvii 

They asked nothing more than liberty to follow out their 
convictions in harmony with the obligations of their cove- 
nants, and in dissent and separation from all that violated 
their covenant engagements. But the strong arm of force 
was laid upon them to compel conformity in faith and 
practice to that which their consciences condemned, and 
from which they must therefore, in loyalty to Christ, keep 
themselves free. Their dissent and separation fr( m the 
immoralities of church and state was a stinging rebuke of 
the officials in power. And in hate and vengeance these 
officials let loose blood-thirsty dragoons upon a peaceable, 
God-fearing people. But the storm of the persecutor's an- 
ger was the Lord's call to faithful and uncompromising 
maintenance of the truth : 

•' Whence came the summons for thto go? 

From Thee awoke the warning sound I 
' Out to your tents, O Israeli Lol 

The heathen's warfare girds thee round. 
Sons of the faithful! up, away! 

The lamb must of the wolf beware : 
The falcon seeks the dove for prey ; 

The fowler spreads his cunning snare.' 

"Day set in gold; 'twas peace around; 

'Twas seeming peace by field and flood. 
We w^oke, and on our lintels found 

The cross of wrath — the mark of blood. 
Lord! in thy cause we mocked at fears, 

We scorned the ungodly 's threatening words, 
Beat out our pruning hooks to spears, 

And turned our ploughshares into swords!'' 

As faithful witnesses for Christ they were ready to resist 
unto blood, striving against sin. They counted not their 



xxviii IXTRODUCTION. 

lives dear when it was a question of fidelity to their Saviour 
King, and separation from what was a dishonor to his 
sceptre and crown. 

These are essentially the principles, whatever modifica- 
lions may be called for in their application in the land and 
days in which we live, that must be maintained and put 
into practical operation, if we are to defend our national 
life against the anarchy of political atheism on the one hand > 
and the despotism of popish assumption and aggression on 
the other hand. This is the sum of them — God's law the hnal 
moral standard for the nation, to be studied, interpreted and 
applied by the nation itself, under Christ as acknowledged 
Sovereign Lord and King, and with a mutual engagement 
by the people and the rulers in covenant to be loyal to Him, 
to the nation, and to one another, against every assault of 
the enemies of his AVord, and of the light and liberty which 
flow therefrom. May the reading of these inspiring Poems 
of the Covenant win acceptance of these principles, and in- 
fix them in the hearts of American youth, in preparation 
for the conflict in which they shall have to bear their 
part. 

And thus we come to consider briefly, in closing, the 
qualities of these heroes and martyrs in the maintenance of 
their patriotic and Scriptural principles. How much we 
need essentially the same qualities to-day in the battle with 
falsehood and wrong ! The want of our times is men of 
this heroic mold who will stand by truth and right, let the 
consequences be what they may. AVe need the same fervent 
piety, striking its roots into the rich soil of the Divine Word, 
and nourished by familiar intercourse with the Hearer of 
Prayer day by day at the throne of grace. AVe need tiie 
same freedom from the fear of man in the true fear of God ; 



INTRODUCTION. xxix 

the same readiness to endure hardship as good soldiers of 
the cross of Christ, and suffer the loss of all worldly goods 
and earthly comforts for the sake of King Jesus ; the same 
complete surrender of self, of all that we are in body and 
spirit and all that we have, that we may glorify Him who 
hath redeemed us by his blood and who calls us to bear 
testimony to His royal claims. 

Sad it is to be forced to admit that this very intensity 
of conviction and loyalty to what was believed to be God's 
truth did sometimes lead, through Avant of brotherly con- 
fidence and charity, to the alienation and separation of 
those who, notwithstanding differences of opinion on minor 
points, should have been united, as at Bothwell Bridge, 
against a common foe. And true it is, it must be confessed, 
that the same causes still sometimes operate among descend- 
ants of the old Covenanters to produce the same lamentable 
result. But better such strength of conviction, even with 
this occasional unhappy effect, than the utter indifference 
to great moral issues which avoids all conflict with error 
and wrong. 

One of the chief lessons to be learned from the history 
of the Covenanters of Scotland by their descendants in every 
land to-day is to hold together in the advocacy of the great 
principles of their profession with the confidence and love 
of brethren. There are Bothwell Brigs of our own day 
that can be held only by the united strength of the entire 
covenanted host. In these present and still coming strug- 
gles let the most intense loyalty to truth and the most char- 
itable and loving confidence be bound together with bands 
soft as silk and yet strong as steel. 

Widely scattered throughout America are tens and even 
hundreds of thousands of descendants of the Covenant- 



XXX INTKODUCTION. 

ers, into the hands of many of whom this volume may 
ftill, and who will glory in their descent from an ancestry 
whose title of nobility was sealed in the dungeon, or on the 
scaffold, or at the stake. But let us all, as we admire the 
character of the men whose praises are sung in these Poems 
of the Covenant, and as we glory in a martyred ancestry, 
hear and heed the warning of Dr. Alexander Duff: " What 
substantial proof or pledge have ye .ever yet given, that ye 
are really prepared and resolved to tread in their footsteps ? 
You profess to imitate their example ! Well, in order to 
this, you are called upon, like them, to deny yourselves, 
in order the more effectually to advance the cause of the 
Redeemer. And how do you respond to the summons ? 
In token of admiration, you may, on a fine summer's morn- 
ing, issue forth, with your trappings and equipage, to survey 
the scenes of their pilgrimage and their struggles. From 
the very lap of ease, and plenty, and grandeur, ye can gaze 
at those grey hills that environ and overhang the solitary 
vale — those monuments of nature, more stable than ' mar- 
ble or brass' — those time-defying monuments of the piety 
and patriotism, and self-sacrificing heroism of your fathers ; 
— and yet seriously believe that ye are of the number of their 
children and followers ! Ye profess to imitate their exam- 
ple ! But when called upon, like them, to deny yourselves, 
what new demonstration is furnished of your resolution 
to comply? 'Behold,' you may reply, 'Behold these 
great commemorative anniversaries ! Only think of the 
trouble and expense which we have incurred in the cele- 
bration of them.' Indeed ! you assemble in the colonnaded 
hall,— smiled on by wealth, and guarded by the ensigns of 
power : — you surround the banquet table, groaning under 
the load of a thousand delicacies, wafted by the gales of 



INTRODUCTJOX. xxxi 

heaven from a thousand shores : — and you believe that 
you are hereby honouring the memory, and proving your 
readiness to imitate the example of men who, for the sake of 
Jesus, were content to see their fields devastated ; their 
dwellings wrapt in conflagration; and their parents, and 
wives, and children turned adrift for shelter among 
the dens and caves of the earth, — men who, for the sake 
of Jesus, willingly suffered themselves to be hunted, like 
partridges upon the mountains,— men who, for the sake of 
Jesus, were rejoiced to make the grassy turf their throne, 
the blue vault of heaven their canopy, and the naked rocks 
the walls of a sanctuary that oft resounded with the psalms 
of the sweet singer of Israel ! When ye next thus com- 
memorate the deeds of your fathers, ye ought to obliter- 
ate from your remembrance the memory of their sufferino-s 
and their sacrifices ; else, how ought your cheeks to redden 
Avith the crimson blush of shame, and your eyes be con- 
verted into a fountain of tears, at the bitter contrast which 
your own conduct exhibits! But the sufferings and the 

sacrifices of these spiritual heroes ye cannot forget : or, 

if ye do, would, that in a voice of thunder ye could be r3- 
minded that that very peace, and liberty, and security, 
and abundance which ye abuse, — turning them into instru- 
ments of self-aggrandizement and self-gratification,— trans- 
forming them into engines of ingratitude and treason against 
the Majesty of heaven ; that all, all have been secured by 
the self-denial and self sacrifice of your fathers, and are 
handed down as an inheritance purchased at the cost of 
their blood ! Oh, then, that ye could be made in right 
earnest to blush for yourselves, and weep for your children ! 
Oh that, in order to renew the bygone days of self-denial aud 
self-sacrifice, ye would now with God's blessins; resolve to 



xxxii INTEODUCTIOX. 

' Snatch from the ashes of your sires 
The embers of their former fires I' 

And then might we expect that the Lord would rend 
His heavens and come down; and, from the long suspend- 
ed clouds of promise, copiously distil the dews of His grace 
on the chafed and parched soil of a world that is smitten 
and blighted with a curse." 

But this introduction must not end in a despondent strain. 
The men and women of the Covenant were strong in hope 
and faith. They believed the divine promises. And these 
promises assure us of the coming glory of the King. Men 
and women of the same heroic stamp may yet have to sutler 
and fall, but others will win the victory under Chrifrt's 
royal banner. Some of the literal descendants of the Cov- 
enanters will have no share in that certain triumph. But 
there shall be a perpetuation of the spiritual seed of the 
martyrs. In both America and Great Britain, leading, 
as these nations do, the vanguard of the cause of national 
consecration to the Mediatorial King, shall yet be recog- 
nized and honored a covenanted host, strong in faith, loyal 
to Christ and his law, separated from all that dishonors his 
authority and crown, arrayed on the side of truth and 
righteosuness, pleading for the application of the Law of 
their Saviour King in every relation of human life, and 
marching onward to the sure and final victory. 

" Bear aloft Christ's royal banner. 

Crimsoned o'er with martyrs' blood; 
It hath waved through lapse of ages, 

Undestroyed by fire or flood. 
On the field of bloody combat 

It hath waved amid the strife, 
And our fathers, to preserve it. ^ 

periled fortune, home, and life," 



POETS AND POETRY 

OF 

THE COVENANT. 



poph an5 Poptpg of t^^t (Jotipnanl 



JAME8 GRAHAME. 

AUTHOR OF -^THE SABBATH/' 

[The following notice of this author is taken mainly from 
Gilfillan's " Martyrs and Heroes of the Scottish Covenant."] 

James Graliame Avas the first laureate of the Covenant. 
No poet hitherto had set the deeds of the Covenanters, 
''fanatics," as they had been called, to music. It was 
reserved for James Grahame, the author of the Sabbath, 
to sound the first key-note of those many melodies of praise 
which have saluted their memories since. 

This poet was a native of Glasgow, and studied at the 
University there. He then removed to Edinburgh, and 
became an advocate. From early life, however, he had 
entertained a dislike to the profession of the law, and aspired 
to that of a clergyman. In the year 1809, when he had 
already reached his forty-fifth year, he gained the desire of 



4 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

his heart, by entering holy orders as a clergyman of the 
Church of England. He went south, and occupied various 
curacies in that church. His health, however, failed ; his 
hopes of happiness and of promotion in his profession Avere 
grievously disappointed, and, within two years of his ordina- 
tion, he came back to his beloved Scotland, " a withered 
flower," and returned to die. In his native city, on the 
14th of September, 1811, he breathed his last. 

James Grahame was himself a remarkable man, and was 
fortunate, besides, in his circle of friends. Campbell, the 
poet, knew him intimately, as did Jeffrey ; and both in their 
memoirs speak of him with great affection and esteem. 
Professor Wilson has poured out a most beautitul and melt- 
ting monody over his grave. He is described as a man 
of magnificent presence, of mild manners, of amiable temper, 
of sensitive disposition, and of a piety the most ardent and 
sincere. Campbell mentions Grahame as returning with 
him (after having sat up all night) from an excursion to 
Arthur's Seat to see the sun rise, and ere going to bed, 
pouring out the devotion of his heart in an extempore hymn, 
of which the bard of hope " never heard any thing equal." 
His genius was of a mildly-pensive and elegantly-descriptive 
kind. He had little constructive or dramatic faculty, his 
powers of reflection were rather feeble, nor does he ever 
momit into the seventh heaven of invention. His qualities 
were warm-hearted enthusiasm, deep-toned piety, and a 
rare truth and beauty of description. In touches, equally 
forceful and felicitous, of natural painting, he is not sur- 
passed by Cowper or Thomson. As if in mere absence of 
mind he drops the brush upon the canvass, and thus pro- 
duces exquisite effects. His poetry is on the whole rough 
and bare — a Scottish moorland — but has bright pools like 



JAMES aRAHAME. o 

eyes sprinkled on it, and little clumps of golden gorse, 
making the solitary place glad. 

But the poem which secures his fame, as well as justi- 
fies the introduction of his name into this volume, is un- 
questionably " The Sabbath." This, like his other poems, is 
unequal, has little art, skill, or unity, and abounds in 
prosaic passages. All this, however, is not sufficient to 
counterbalance its pleasing and various merit. It is a 
poem which has moved Scotland to its depths. The title 
so suggestive to every Christian heart ; the sweetness of the 
opening lines, beginning 

"How still the morning of the hallowed day;" 

the fervour of the piety, unmingled wdth a particle of cant ; 
the fine catholicity of the spirit ; the beauty of the natural 
descriptions, and the nice individual strokes of picturesque 
power, have combined to render it a first favourite with 
the religious classes. But even more has its popularity been 
owing to its pictures of the Covenanting days. Grahame 
found in this an untouched field, and he has ploughed it 
Avith great vigour and eflPect. The haunts of the persecuted, 
among hills 

"Where rivers, there but brooks, 
Dispart to different seas;" 

the field-preachings, where the Word was 

" By Cameron thundered, or by Renwick poured 
In gentle stream;'' 

the darker times, when the people dared no longer to meet 
in face of day, but had to shelter under the midnight canopy, 
are described in the most plaintive and powerful manner. 



6 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

It was the first, and remains the most beautiful, libation 
poured upon the tomb of the martyrs. What added to 
its gracefulness and power was that Grahame when he wrote 
it was a member, and soon after became a minister, in the 
Episcopalian communion. True genius never did, never 
can, and never shall, in reality, belong to any party. Gra- 
hame died in the prime of life, with a broken constitution 
and, probably, a broken heart. But even on his premature 
deathbed, it must have ministered deep consolation to his 
spirit, that he had linked together, by the tie of an imperish- 
able poem, two subjects of paramount interest and peculiar 
charm to every Christian Scotchman, and to many in other 
lands — the Sabbath and the great struggle of the CWenant. 



TRIBUTE TO THE COVENANTERS.. 



TRIBUTE TO THE COVENANTERS. 

O blissful days! 
When all men worship God as conscience wills. 
Far other times our fathers' grandsires knew, 
A virtuous race to godliness devote. 
What though the sceptic's scorn hath dared to soil 
The record of their fame! What though the men 
Of worldly minds have dared to stigmatize 
The sister-cause, Keligion and the Law% 
With superstition's name! yet, yet their deeds, 
Their constancy in torture, and in death, — 
These on tradition's tongue still live; these shall 
On History's honest page be pictured bright 
To latest times. Perhaps some bard, whose muse 
Disdains the servile strain of fashion's quire, 
May celebrate their unambitious names. 
With them each day was holy, ever}'^ hour 
They stood prepared to die, a people doomed 
To death: — old men, and youths, and simple maids. 
With them each day was holy ; but that morn 
On which the angel said, " See where the Lord 



POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

Was laid," joyous arose; to die that day 

Was bliss. Long ere the dawn, by devious ways. 

O'er hills, thro' woods o'er dreary wastes, they sought 

The upland moors, where rivers, there but brooks, 

Dispart to different seas. Fast by such brooks, 

A little glen is sometimes scooped, a plat 

With green sward gay, and flowers that strangers seem 

Amid the heathery wild, that all around 

Fatigues the eye : in solitudes like these, 

Thy persecuted children, Scotia, foiled 

A tyrant's and a bigot's bloody laws; 

There, leaning on his spear, (one of the array. 

Whose gleam, in former days, had scathed the rose 

On England's banner, and had powerless struck 

The infatuate monarch and his wavering host), 

The lyart veteran heard the word of God 

By Cameron thundered, or by Kenwick poured 

In gentle stream : then rose the song, the loud 

Acclaim of praise; the wheeling plover ceased 

Her plaint; the solitary place was glad, 

And on the distant cairns, the watcher's ear 

Caught doubtfully at times the breeze-borne note. 

But years more gloomy followed ; and no more 

The assembled people dared, in face of day. 

To worship God, or even at the dead 

Of night, save w^hen the wintry storm raved fierce, 

And thunder-peals compell'd the men of blood 

To couch within their dens; then dauntlessly 

The scatter'd few would meet, in some deep dell 

By rocks o'er-canopied, to hear the voice. 

Their faithful pastor's voice. He, by the gleam 

Of sheeted lightning, oped the sacred book. 



TRIBUTE TO THE COVENANTERS. 

And words of comfort spake : Over their souls 
His accents soothing came,~as to her j^oung, 
The heathfowTs plumes, when, at the close of eve, 
She gathers in, mournful, her brood dispersed 
By murderous sport, and o'er the remnant spreads 
Fondly her wings; close nestling "neath her breast. 
They, cherished, cower amid the purple blooms. 



10 rOETS OF THE COVENANT. 



DAYID MACBETH MOIR. 

Dr. Moir was born at Musselburgh, five miles east of 
Edinburgh, in January, 1798, and at the grammar school 
there, and at the University of Edinburgh, he received his 
education. At the early age of eighteen he received his 
diploma as a doctor of medicine, and began to practice in 
his native town, in company, however, with one more aged. 
Dr. Brown, already in practice there. At the same early 
age he published a volume of poems. Soon after he began 
to write for the magazines, and for many years wrote large- 
ly for Blackwood's, both in poetry and prose. In 1824, 
he published the " Legend of Genevieve, with other Tales 
and. Poems," and soon after his humourous "Autobiogra- 
phy of Mansie Waugh, Tailor in Dalkeith," which was, 
and still is, immensely popular. In 1831 his " Outlines of 
Ancient History" appeared. In 1843, his " Domestic 
Verses," which displayed a great advance in the poetic 
field, the volume][being highly extolled by Lord Jeffrey. 
Dr. Moir, so long known as "Delta," in Blackwood, died 
suddenly at Dumfries, on the 6th July, 1851, when on a 
visit to his gifted and excellent friend, Thomas Aird, the 



DAVID M. MOIR. 11 

poet, author of " The Devil's Dream," the most sublime, 
terrible, aud original poem of this century. 

We cannot better sum up the chief characteristics of 
Dr. Moir's muse than by quoting what Lord Jeffrey said 
of his^" Domestic Verses" in a letter to the author : " I 
cannot resist the impulse of thanking you," he says, " with 
all my heart for the deep gratification you have afforded 
me, and the soothing, and I hope bettering, emotions which 
you have excited. I am sure that what you have written 
is more genuine pathos than anything, almost, I have ever 
read in verse, and is so tender and true, so sweet and 
natural, as to make all lower recommendations indifferent." 

A Christian gentleman, an excellent physcian, and a true 
poet. Dr. Moir, was greatly respected in life, and'his name 
and his fame will long be savoury not only in Scotland, 
but wherever the English language is spoken. 



12 tOETRY Of' THE COVENANT. 



THE COVENANTER'S NK^HT HYMN. 

[As a preface to this poem in Blackwood's Magazine 
was the following historical summary : — The religious per- 
secutions of the Covenanters were not mere things of a day, 
but were continued through at least three entire generations. 
They extended from the accession of James VI. to the Eng- 
lish throne (testibus the rhymes of Sir David Lyndsay, 
and the classic prose of Buchanan) down to the revolution 
of 1688, — almost a century, during which many thousands 
tyrannically perished, without in the least degree loosening 
that tenacity of purpose, or subduing that perfervidum 
ingenium, which, according to Thuames, have been nation- 
al characteristics. As in almost all similar cases, the cause 
of the Covenanters, so strenuously and unflinchingly main- 
tained, ultimately resulted in the victory of Protestantism 
— ^that victory, the fruits of which we have seemed of late 
years so readily inclined to throw away ; and, in its rural 
districts more especially, of nothing are the people more 
justly proud than " the tales of persecution and the Cove- 
nant, whose echo rings through Scotland to this hour." 
So says Wordsworth. Those traditions have been emblaz ■ 



THE covenanter's NIGHT HYMN. 13 

oned by the pens of Scott, M'Crie, Gait, Hogg, Wilson, 
Grahame, and Pollock, and by the pencils of Wilkie, Har- 
vey, and Duncan — each regarding them with the eye of his 
peculiar genius. In reference to the following stanzas, it 
should be remembered that, during the holding of their con- 
venticles, which frequently, in the more troublous times, 
took place amid mountain solitudes, and during the night, 
a sentinel was stationed on some commanding height in the 
neighbourhood, to give warning of the approach of danger. 

I. 

Ho! plaided watcher of the hill, 

What of the night? what of the night? 
The winds are low, the woods are still, 

The countless stars are sparkling bright. 
From out this heathery moorland glen, 

By the shy wild-fowl only trode, 
We raise our hymn, unheard of men, 

To Thee, an omnipresent God I 

II. 

Jehovah ! though no sign appear, 

Through earth our aimless path to lead, 
We know, we feel Thee ever near, 

A present help in time of need — 
I*^ear, as when, pointing out the way, 

For ever in thy people's sight, 
A pillared wreath of smoke by day, 

Which turned to tiery flame at night. 

III. 

Whence came the summons forth to go? 
From Thee awoke the warning sound ! 



14 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

''Out to your tents, O Israel! Lo! 

The heathen's warfare ^irds thee round, 
Sons of the faithful! up, away! 

The lamb must of the wolf beware : 
The falcon seeks the dove for prey ; 

The fowler spreads his cunning snare/' 

IV. 

Day set in gold; 'twas peace around; 

'Twas seeming peace by field and Hood. 
We woke, and on our lintels found 

The cross of wrath — the mark of blood. 
Lord! in thy cause we mocked at fears, 

We scorned the ungodly 's threatening words 
Beat out our pruning hooks to spears, 

And turned our ploughshares into swords! 

V. 

Degenerate Scotland! days have been 

Thy soil when only freeman trode ; 
When mountain crag and valley green 

Poured forth the loud acclaim to God ! 
The fire which libert}' imparts, 

Refulgent in each patriot eye, 
And graven on a nation's hearts, 

The Word — for which we stand or die! 

YI. 

Unholy change! The scorner's chair 
Is now the seat of those who rule ; 

Tortures, and bonds, and death, the share 
Of all except the tyrant's tool. 

That faith in which our fathers breathed. 



THE covenanter's NIGHT HYMN. 15 

And had their life, for which they died, 
That priceless heirloom they bequeathed 
Their sons — our impious foes deride. 

VII. 

So we have left our homes behind. 

And we have belted on the sword, 
And we in solemn league have joined, 

Yea! covenanted with the Lord, 
N^ever to seek those homes again, 

Never to give the sword its sheath. 
Until our rights of faith remain 

Unfettered as the air we breathe! 

Tin. 

O Thou, who rulest above the sky. 

Begirt about with starry thrones, 
Cast from the heaven of heavens thine eye 

Down on our wives and little ones. 
From hallelujahs surging round. 

Oh ! for a moment turn thine ear. 
The widow prostrate on the ground, 

The famished orphan's cries to hear! 

IX. 

And Thou wilt hear; it cannot be. 

That Thou wilt list the raven's brood. 
When from their nest they scream to Thee, 

And in due season send them food; 
It cannot be that Thou wilt weave 

The lily such superb array, 
And yet unfed, unsheltered, leave 

Thy children — as if less than they ! 



16 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

X. 

We have no hearth — the ashes lie 

In blackness where they brightly shone; 
We have no home — the desert sky 

Our covering, earth oiu- couch alone; 
We have no heritage— depriven 

Of these, we ask not such on earth; 
Our hearts are sealed; we seek in heaven 

For heritage, and home, and hearth! 

XI. 

O Salem, city of the saints, 

And holy men made perfect! We 
Pant for thy gates, our spirits faint 

Thy glorious golden streets to see ; 
To mark the rapture that inspires 

The ransomed, and redeemed by grace ; 
To listen to the seraphs' lyres. 

And meet the angels face to face ! 

XII. 

Father in heaven ! we turn not back, 

Though briers and thorns choke up the path; 
Rather the tortures of the rack^ 

Than tread the wine-press of Thy wrath. 
Let thunders crash; let torrents shower; 

Let whirlwinds churn the howling sea; 
What is the turmoil of an hour 

To an eternal calm with Thee? 



JAMES HYSLOP, 

AUTHOR OF "THE CAMERONIAX\S DREAM." 

[The most popalar of all poems ever written on the Covenan- 
ters is " The Cameronian's Dream," as the author himself en- 
titles it, or '" The Cameronian Dream,"" as the title is perhaps 
more frequently oiven. There are few Covenanters, or de- 
scendants of Covenanters, whose blood has not been stirred 
by the strains of this impassioned production. And yet but 
little has been known, even among those most deeply interest- 
ed in the poem itself, of its gifted young author. As a suit- 
able introduction, therefore, to his best known poem, and the 
much longer and not much inferior one, " A Scottish Sacra- 
mental Sabbath," selected from all his iH'oductions for this vol- 
ume, the following biographical sketch is here inserted from 
the Political Dissenter, of Allegheny, Pa., to which it was 
contributed by Mr. A. B. Todd, author of ''Homes, Haunts, 
and Battlefields of the Covenanters."] 

This popular poet of the Scottish Covenant was born in 
1798, and by descent was one of those of whom Richard 

17 2 



18 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

Savage tlius pathetically writes in his poem " The Bas- 
tard :" 

" He lives to build, not boast, a generous race — 
No tenth transmitter of a foolish face;" 

and he is said to have felt keenly the stain upon his birth, 
although his mother returned to the paths of virtue, and 
lived an exemplary Christian life till the end of her days. 

The future poet was brought up in the humble abode of 
his maternal grandfather, George Lambie, whose little 
cottage stood in the green pastoral glen of the limpid Cra- 
wick, about two miles from the ancient royal burgh of San- 
quhar, so renowned and important in Covenanting story ; 
where in all the hill country round, the Covenanters sought 
shelter in the dark and evil days of persecution, rendering 
it just such a " meet nurse for the poetic child" as it became 
to James Hyslop. 

Adopting the calling of a shepherd, he went forth to the 
world with but a scanty education ; but so ardent was his 
thirst for it, that before he was twenty, he by attending 
evening schools and self-tuition, had become not only an 
excellent English scholar, but had likewise acquired a good 
knowledge of Latin, French, mathematics, and algebra. 

When very young he tended flocks at Dalblain, amid 
the deep mountain solitudes of Glenmuir ; passing from 
thence to Nether Well wood, a few miles to the north-east, 
and on the banks of tlie infant Ayr, and at the eastern end 
of Airsmoss, 

" Where Cameron's sword and his Bible are seen, 
Engraved on the stone where the heather grows green." 

With the history, traditions, and struggles of the Cov- 



JAMES HYSLOP. 19 

enanters, Hyslop had become early acquainted under the 
roof of his pious grandfather; and now he drew the in- 
spiration of poetry, as well as patriotism, from the scenes 
amid which he was a sojourner. 

■ From being a shepherd, he became a school-master, teach- 
ing the children of the farmers and small country lairds. 
When he had reached the age of twenty-one, he went to the 
town of Greenock (where no poet was ever known to meet 
with any countenance) and opened a school, which proved 
unsuccessful, when for a short time he returned to his na- 
tive wilds and pastoral employment. In 1812, the poem by 
which he is best known, and on which his fame securely 
rests, " The Cameronian's Dream," apj^eared in " The Scot's 
Magazine," and attracted wide attention, the great critic 
Lord Jeffrey, being one of its admirers. 

About this time he was a frequent contributor, both of 
poetry and of prose, to the Magazine. Dr. Muirhead, the 
editor, having said that "the sphere of Scottish poetry 
must now be very contracted," Mr. Hyslop replied in some 
spirited letters to the editor, in one of which he thus beauti- 
fully says : " Had you spent as many Sabbath-days among 
the Scottish peasantry as I have done, I dare say you would 
join with me in thinking that there is yet an extensive field 
for the cultivation of a higher order of poetry than much 
that has ever yet appeared in our language. It is certain 
that the subjects of some of our most admired Scottish poets 
are far from being exhausted. To mention one particular 
instance : how different a poem would Burns have i3roduc- 
ed had he carried the spirit of 'The Cottar's Saturday 
Xight' into the morning of his Sacramental Sabbath ? The 
poem would certainly have appeared to as much advantage, 
and the respectability of the Scottish character and religion 



20 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

might, perhaps, have been more indebted to him ; as it is, 
liowever, he has left abundant room for the display of future 
talent, and, I think, it is much to be wished that some 
mighty genius, equal to the task, would step forward and 
mingle at once the social and religious feelings of the Scot- 
tish peasantry in the poetry of our native land. AVhile 
such subjects remain unsung, shall it ever be said that the 
poetry of Scotland is susceptible of no further improvement ? 
Our bosom has often trembled with delight at the soft melt- 
ing music of the Scottish harp when struck by the hands 
of a powerful master ; but we shall never be sensible of the 
highest power of its heart-melting melody till its wild 
notes be sounded in concert and unison with the songs of 
Zion." 

In his subsequent and beautiful poem, " The Scottish 
Sacramental Sabbath," Mr. Hyslop gave excellent proof 
of the correctness of his views on the subject of Scottish 
poetry ; for that poem which is iii the same measure as " The 
Cottar's Saturday Night," would have done high honour 
even to the genius of Robert Burns himself, being vivid, 
striking and true as a picture, beautiful in its descrij^tive 
power, and intensely pious in spirit. 

Hyslop himself gives the incident upon which the poem 
was founded, and which occurred when the sacrament of the 
supper was being dis^iensed, in the open air, in the beauti- 
ful tree-shaded churchyard of Sanquhar, during the pastor- 
ate of the Rev. Mr. Rankine, an able and a godly minister. 
The account is as follows : 

"After the action sermon, which, in those days, was 
preached from a tent in the field of graves, and when the 
first table was about to be served, a hasty thunder-storm, 
no uncommon occurrence, had gathered among the hills, 



James hyslop. 21 

and stretching the awning of its tempest-cloud over the 
valley beneath, discharged its contents with ominous vehe- 
mence on the heads of the convening congregation. The 
noise of the thunder, and the rushing of the rain, caused 
some interruption ; and Mr. Rankine, designedly leaving 
the thread of his discourse, addressed the audience in the 
following dignified and highly poetic strain, as if heaven 
inspired him at the moment: — 'My friends, how dreadful 
is this place ! This is none other than the house of God 
and the gate of heaven. He before whom we must appear 
in judgment, from his pavilion of dark waters and thick 
clouds of the skies, in a voice of thunder is now addressing 
us who are assembled round his table ; and I have no doubt 
that if the thin veil by which Ave are separated from the in- 
visible world were drawn aside, we might discover, among 
these dark clouds where the thunder is rolling, the throne 
of Him from whose face the earth and the heavens shall 
flee away ; we might behold on the mountains around us 
the bright armies of heaven drawn up in their shining ranks 
under the banners of the King of righteousness ; we might 
behold those who have joined us at this table, whose graves 
are now rising green beneath our feet, but whose spirits are 
in glory ; — I say, we might behold them looking upon us 
with heavenly joy and satistaction, while we join ourselves 
to the Lord in an everlasting covenant never to be forgot- 
ten.' " Such was Mr. Rankine's address ; and Mr. Hyslop 
adds : " How awfully sublime after this was the devotion 
when the assembled multitudes were singing to the mild 
and simple melody (Coleshill) that awakens all the sacra- 
mental associations of departed years, as the elements were 
about to be distributed." This, then, was the ground-work 
of the poem. 



^2 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

In 1821, Hysloj) was, through the influence of Lord 
Jeffrey and other Edinburgh friends, appointed teacher on 
board the man-of-war ship Doris, and went with it on a 
cruise to South America ; and it was when on this voyage, 
and when thinking of his native valley of the Nith, that he 
wrote " The Scottish Sacramental Sabbath." On his re- 
turn home, the same kind patrons, through their friends in 
London, got him appointed a parliamentary reporter on 
the leading newspaper there ; and afterwards head master 
of an academy near the city. All the while, however, it was 
the dearest Avish of his heart to be able some day to return 
and spend his days in the pursuits of literature in his na- 
tive green and bowery valley of the Crawick. 

In the autumn of 1827, through the influence of Lord 
Spencer, he was appointed tutor on board the war vessel 
Tweed, then bound for the Cape of Good Hope. In high 
spirits, and full of bright prospects, he sailed away from his 
native isle, but, ah ! to return no more forever. On her 
outward way the ship called at the Cape de Verde Islands, 
when a party of fifteen landed and remained all night on 
the island of St. Jago. On their return to the ship they 
were all seized with fever, and within two days eight of 
them, principally officers, died ; one of them was James 
Hyslop, and the literary world long lamented the prema- 
ture death of " The Muirkirk Shepherd" — the name by 
which he first became known to the poetic world. His death 
took place on the 5th of December, 1827, when he was on- 
ly in the 29 th year of his age. 

Hyslop's poetry is very unequal ; and while some of his 
productions are all aglow with poetic fire, and are spirited 
and elegant, others are dull, flat, and prosaic. This is partic- 
ularly the case with his longest, and most ambitious poem, 



JAMES HYSLor. 2B 

" The Cameronian's V'ision," though written some six years 
after " The Cameronian's Dream." ■ One stanza, however, is 
as beautiful as it is true. Keferring to the times of the per- 
secution, under the evil rule of the i^rofligate Charles the 
Second, and his stolid and pig-headed brother James, when 
the saintly men of the Covenaut, who had grown up during 
the Second Reformation, were driven from their churches 
into the desert moors, he says : 

••For in cities the wells of salvation were sealed. 
More brightly to burst in the moor and the tield ; 
And the spirit which fled from the dwellings of men. 
Like a manna-cloud rained round the camp in the glen." 

The poem is descriptive of the martyrdom of the saintly 
John Brown of Priesthill, far up in the mountain wilds of 
Ayrshire, and closes with these vigorous stanzas put into the 
mouth of his new-made widow, and spoken by her to Claver- 
house, as he rode away and left her alone in that wild and 
lonely desert, with the bloody corpse of her murdered hus- 
band, and her two terror-stricken babes ; and we commend 
them to those hardly less heartless writers, who, in our day, 
have set themselves to whitewash this the most dastardly 
ruffian that ever bore a sword or commanded a troop, and 
from whose blood-crimsoned hands all the Avaters of Helicon 
could not wasii away a single stain : 

"Thou friendless, forsaken, hast left me and mine, 
Yet my lot is a bless*d one, when balanced with thine, 
With the viper remorse on thy vitals to prey. 
And the blood on thy hands that will ne'er wash away. 

•• Thy name shall be wafted to far future time, 
A proverb for cruelty, cursing, and crime : 



'24 t*OET8 OF THE COViiNANt. 

Thy dark picture, painted in blood shall remain 

While the heather waves green o'er the graves of the slain. 

'• Thy glory shall wither; its wreaths have ^ een gain"d 
By the slaughter of shepherds thy sword who disdaii>ed — 
That sword thou hast drawn on thy country for hire; 
And the title it brings shall in blackness expire. 

" Thy name shall be Claver'se, the blood-thirsty Scot, 
The godly, the guiltless, the grey-haired who shot. 
Bound my Brown's bloody brow glory's garlands shall wave. 
When the muse marketh - mtirderer'' over thy grave." 



THE CAMEIIONIAN's DKEAM. '^5 



THE CAMEROMAIN'8 DREAM. 

In a dream of the night I was wafted awa^' 
To the moorhmd of mist where the martyrs la)' ; 
Where Cameron's sword and his Bible are seen. 
Engraved on the stone where the heather grows green. 

*Twas a dream of those ages of darkness and blood, 
When the minister's home was the mountain and wood : 
When in Wellwood's dark moorlands the standard of Zion. 
All bloody and torn, 'mong the heather was lying. 

It was morning; and summer's young sun, from the east. 
Lay in loving repose on the green mountain's breast. 
On Wardlaw and Cairn-Table the clear shining dew 
Glistened sheen *mong the heath-bells and mountain liowci 
blue. 

And far up in heaven in the white sunny cloud. 

The song of the lark was melodious and loud; 

And in Glenmuir's wild solitudes, lengthened and deep. 

Was the whistling of plovers and the bleating of sheep. 



26 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

And Wellwood's sweet valle}' breathed music and gladness ; 
Tne fresh meadow blooms hung in beauty and redness; 
Its daughters were happy to hail the returning. 
And drink the delights of green July's bright morning. 

But ah! there were hearts cherished far other feelings. 

Illumed by the light of prophetic revealings, 

Who drank from this scenery of beauty but sorrow, 

For they knew that their blood would bedew it to-morrow. 

'Twas the few fiuthful ones who, with Cameron, were lying 
Concealed "mong the mist, where the heath-fowl was crying; 
For the horsemen of Earlshall around them were hovering, 
And their bridle-reins rang through the thin misty covering. 

Their faces grew pale, and their swords were unsheathed. 
But the vengeance that darkened their brows was unbreathed ; 
With eyes raised to Heaven, in meek resignation, 
They sang their last song to the God of Salvation. 

The hills with the deep mournful music were ringing; 
The curlew and plover in concert were singing; 
But the melody died 'midst derision and laughter. 
As the hosts of ungodly rushed on to the slaughter. 

Though in mist and in darkness and fire they were shrouded, 
Yet the souls of the righteous stood calm and unclouded; 
Their dark eyes flashed lightning, as, proud and unbending. 
They stood like the rock which the thunder is rending. 

The muskets were flashing; the blue swords were gleaming; 
The helmets were cleft, and the red blood was streaming; 



THE CAMERONIAN^S DREAM. 27 

The heavens grew dark, and the thunder was rolling, 

When in Wellwood's dark moorhvnds the mighty were fallino-. 

When the righteous had fallen, and the combat had ended. 
A chariot of fire through the dark cloud descended. 
The drivers were angels on horses of whiteness. 
And its burning wheels turned upon axles of brightness. 

A seraph unfolded its doors bright and shining. 
All dazzling like gold of the seventh refining; 
And the souls that came forth out of great tribulation 
Have mounted the chariot and steeds of salvation. 

On the arch of the rainbow the chariot is gliding; 
Through the paths of the thunder the horsemen are riding. 
Glide swiftly, bright spirits, the prize is before ye. 
A crown never fading, a kingdom of glory! 



'2ii POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 



A SCOTTISH SACRAMENTAL SABBATH. 

The Sabbath morning gilds the eastern hills; 

The swains its sunny dawn wi' gladness greet, 
Frae heath- clad hamlets 'niang the nuiirland rills, 

The dewy mountains climb wi' naked feet, 

SkilRn' the daisies drouket, i' the weet; 
The bleating flocks come nibblin' down the brae 

i'o shaddowy pastures screened frae summer's heat, 
In woods where twiklin' waters glide away, 
'Mong holms of clover red and bright brown rye -grass hay 

His ewes and lambs brought careful frae the height, 
The shepherd's children watch them frae the corn; 

On green sward scented lawn, wi' go wans w^hite, 
Frae page o' pocket psalm-book soiPd and torn, 
The task prepar'd assigned for Sabbath morn. 

The elder bairns their parents join in prayer; 
One daughter dear, beneath the flowering thorn 

Kneels down apart her spirit to prepare, 

On this her first approach, the sacred cup to share. 



THE SACRAMENTAL SAHHATlf. 20 

The social chat wi' solemn converse niix'd, 

At early hour the}' finish their repast; 
The pious sire repeats full many a text 

Of sacramental Sabbaths long gone past. 

To see her little family featly dressM 
The careful matron feels a mother's pride, 

Gie's this a linen shirt, gie's that a vest; 
The frugal father's frowns their finery chide.— 
He prays that Heaven their souls may wedding robes provide 

Tbe sisters, busket, seek the garden walk, 
To gather flowers, or watch the warning bell ; 

Sweet-William, danglin' dewy frae the stalk. 
Is mix'd wi' mountain-daisies, rich in smell. 
Green sweet-briar sprigs, and cowslips frae the dell, 

Where Spargo shepherds pass the lane abode, 
An' Wanlock miners cross the muirland fell;— 

Then down the sunny Minding muirland road. 

The little pastoral band approach the house of God. 

Streams of my native mountains. Oh! how oft 

That Sabbath morning walk in youth was mine ; 
Yet fancy hears the kirk-bell, sweet and soft, 

Eing o'er the darkling woods o' dewy pine. 

How oft the wood-rose wild and scented thyme 
I've stoop'd to pull while passing on my way; 

But now in sunny regions south the line, 
Nae birks nor broom -flovv'rs shade the summer brae. 
Alas! I can but dream of Scotland's Sabbath day. 

But dear that cherished dream. I still behold 
The ancient kirk, the plane-trees o'er it spread. 



30 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

And seated 'iiiong the graves, the old, the young, 

As once in summer days, for ever fled. 

To deck my dream the grave gives up its dead : 
The pale precentor sings as then he sung; 

The long-lost pastor wV the hoary head 
Pours forth his pious counsels to the young, 
And dear ones from the dust again to life are sprung. 

Lost friends return from lands beyond the main. 

And boyhood's best beloved ones all are there; 
The blanks in family circles fiU'd again, 

No seat seems empty round the house of prayer. 

The sound of psalms has vanished in the air, 
Borne up to heaven upon the mountain breeze; 

The aged minister with silver}'^ hair, 
In tent erected *neath the fresh green trees, 
Spreads forth the book of God with holy pride and sees 

The eyes of circling thousands on him fix'd; 

The kirk-j^ard scarce contains the mingling mass 
Of kindred congregations round him mix'd, 

Close seated on the gravestones and the grass. 

Some crowd the garden-walls; a wealther class 
On chairs and benches round the tent draw near; 

The poor man prays far distant; and alas I 
Some seated bj^ the graves of parents dear. 
Among the fresh green flow'rs let fall the silent tear. 

Sublime the text he chooseth: " Who is this 
From Edom comes? in garments dyed in blood. 

Travelling in greatness of his strength to bless; 
Treading the wine-press of Almighty God?" 



THE SACKAMENTAL SABBATH. 31 

Perchance the theme the Might}^ One who rode 
Forth leader of the armies cloth'd in light. 

Around whose fiery forehead rainbows glow"d, 
Beneath whose tread heav'n trembled ; angels bright 
Their shining ranks arranged around his head of while. 

Behold the contrast: Christ, the King of kings, 

A houseless wanderer in a world below; 
Faint, fasting by the lonely desert springs; 

From youth a man of mourning and of w^oe. 

The birds have nests on summer's blooming bough ; 
The foxes on the mountains find a bed ; 

But mankind's Friend found every man his foe. 
His heart with anguish in the garden bled; 
He. peaceful like a lamb, w^as to the slaughter led. 

The action-sermon ended, tables fenc'd, 

While elders forth the sacred sjanbols bring. 
The day's more solemn service now commenced; 

To heaven is wafted on devotion's wing, 

The psalm those entering to the altar sing: 
'' I'll of salvation take the cup, I'll call 

With trembling on the name of Zion's King; 
His courts I'll enter, at his footstool fall. 
And pay my early vows before his people all." 

Behold the crowded tables clad in white, 

Extending far above the flowery graves; 
A blessing on the bread and wine-cup bright 

With lifted hands the hoi}'" pastor craves. 

The summer's sunny breeze his white hair waves ; 
His soul is with his Saviour in the sky. 



32 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

The tiallow'd loaf he lifts, and breaks, and gives 
The symbols to the elders seated nigh : 
"Take, eat the bread of life, sent down from heaven high. 

He in like manner also lifted up 

The flagon fiU'd with consecrated wine: 
'' Drink, drink ye all of it, salvation's cup, 

Memorial mournful of his love divine." 

Then solemn pauseth; — save the rustling pine 
Or plane-tree boughs, no sound salutes mine ears. 

In silence pass'd, the silver vessels shine; 
Devotion's Sabbath-dreams from by-gone years 
Return'd, till many an eye is moist with springing tears. 

Again the preacher breaks the solemn pause : 

'' liift up ,your eyes to Calvary's mountain — see 
In mourning veiPd, the mid-daj^ sun withdraws, 

While dies the Saviour bleeding on the tree. 

But hark! the stars again sing jubilee; 
With anthems heaven's armies hail their King 

Ascend in glory from the grave set free; 
Triumphant see him soar on seraph's wing. 
To meet his angel hosts around the clouds of spring. 

" Behold, flis shining robes of fleecy light 

Melt into sunny ether soft and blue; 
Then in this gloomy world of tears and night, 

Behold the table He hath spread for you. 

What though you tread affliction's path — a few, 
A few short years your toils will all be o'er. 

From Pisgah's top the promis'd country view, 



THE SACRAMENTAL SABBATH. 33 

The happ3' land far on ImmanuePs shore, 

Where Eden's blissful bowers bloom green for evermore. 

'• Come here, ye houseless wanderers, soothe j^our grief. 

While faith presents your Father's lov'd abode; 
And here, ye friendless mourners, find relief. 

And dry your tears in drawing near to God. 

The poor may here lay down oppression's load ; 
The rich forget his crosses and his care ; 

Youth enter on religion's narrow road; 
The old for his eternal change prepare ; 
And whosoever will, life's waters freely share. 

•• How blest are they who in his courts abide. 

Whose strength, whose trust, upon Jehovah stay; 
For He in his pavilion shall them hide 

In covert safe, when comes the evil day ; 

Though shadowy darlvness compasseth his way. 
And thick clouds like a curtain hide his throne. 

Xot through a glass our eyes shall gaze; 
In brighter worlds his wisdom shall be shown, 
And all things work for good to those that are his own. 

'' And blessed are the young, to God who bring 

The morning of their days in sacrifice; 
The earth's young flow'rs when yet fresh with the spring. 

Send forth an incense pleasing in his eyes. 

To me, ye children, hearken, and be wise. 
The prophets died; our fathers, where are they? 

Alas! this fleeting world's delusive joys, 
Like morning clouds and early dews, decay. 
Be yours that better part that fadeth not away. 



34 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

'' Walk round these ^yalls, and o'er the yet green grnves 

Of friends whom you have lov'd let fall a tear. 
On many dresses dark deep mourning waves 

For some in summers past who worshipped here. 

Around these tables, each revolving year, 
What tleeting generations have I seen? 

Where, where my youthful friends and comrades dear? 
Fled, fled away, as they had never been; 
All sleeping in the dust beneath those plane-trees green. 

" And some are seated here, mine aged friends, 

Who round these tables never more shall meet; 
For him who bowed with age before j^ou stands. 

The mourners soon shall go a])0ut the street. 

Below those green boughs, shadowM from the heat, 
Fve bless'd the Bread of Life for threescore years; 

And shall not many mould'ring 'neath my feet, 
And some who sit around me now in tears, 
To me be for a crown of joy when Christ appears? 

"Behold, he comes with clouds I a kindling flood 

Of flery flame before his chariot flees I 
The sun in sackcloth veil'd, the moon in blood, 

All kindreds of the earth dismay shall seize; 

Like figs untimelj' shaken by the breeze, 
The fixed stars fall amid the thunder's roar; 

The buried spring to life beneath those trees; 
A mighty angel, standing on the shore. 

With arms stretched forth to heaven swears time shall be no 
more ! 

" The hour is near; your robes unspotted keep; 
The vows you now have sworn are sealed on high— 



THE SACRAMENTAL SABBATH. 35 

Hark! hark! God's answering- voice in thunders deep, 
'Midst waters dark and thick clouds of the sky. 
And what it now to judgment in your eye 

He burst, where yonder livid lightnings play, 
His chariot of salvation passing by ; 

The great white throne, the terrible array 

Of Him before whose throne the heavens shall tlee awayV 

" ]\I y friends, how dreadful is this holy place, 

Where rolls the thick'ning thunder! God is near; 
And though we cannot see Hiui face to face. 

Yet as from Horeb's mount His voice we hear. 

The angel armies of the upi^er sphere 
Down from these clouds on your communion gaze; 

The spirits of the dead, who once were dear. 
Are viewless witnesses of all j'our ways. 
Go from His table, then: with trembling tune His praise.'' 



36 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 



HARRIET STUART MENTEATH, 

author of "the lays of tpie kirk and 
coye:n^ant." 

BY A . B . TODD. 

Mrs. Harriet Stuart Menteatli is' sprung from one of the 
most worthy and ancient families in Wigtownshire — Cov- 
enanters, too, in the olden time, and is the youngest daughter 
of Major General Agitew of Dalreagle. She was, however, 
born in London, where, and on the Continent of Europe, 
she resided till she had i-eached the age of nineteen ; and 
till then, she knew nothing of the religious struggles of Scot- 
land. At that time she made a lengthened summer visit 
to her father's friends in Wigtownshire, when, under the 
guidance of a lady friend, a new world of thought opened 
upon her, and she visited the numerous Covenanting scenes 
in the district, read Samuel Rutherford's Letters under the 
shadow of the ruined kirk w^alls of xVnworth, and soon be- 
gan to sing with lofty fervor of the Covenanters. 

In 1841 she Avas united in marriage to Mr. Alexander 
Menteath, sixth son of the late Sir Charles Granville Stuart 
Menteath, of Closeburn and Mansfield, Bart. Shortly after 



MRS. MENTEATH. 37 

several spirited poems from her pen appeared from time to 
time in different publications, and were at once much and 
deservedly admired. In 1851 she collected some of these, 
which with others, all commemorative of scenes and inci- 
dents in the Covenanting era, she published under the title 
of" Lays of the Kirk and Covenant," which at once became 
popuhir. The " Lays" were then — and remain so still — 
a noble antidote to the most anhistorical "Lays of the 
Scottish Cavaliers," which had appeared the previous year, 
and wliich made a hero of Graham of Claverhouse, a man 
(we scorn to call him a soldier) who, with monstrous and 
unheard of cruelty, could with his own hand shoot the quiet 
and godly John Brown of Priesthill in presence of his weep- 
ing wife and wailing children at the door of their lonely 
moorland cot ! 

Mrs. Menteath's " Lays" have none of the artificial pol- 
ish and cold, lifeless glitter of Aytoun's, but they possess, 
and are full of those nobler qualities — truth, nature, and 
an ever-flowing stream of genuine and unforced poetry, 
which Aytoun, with all the tricks of art, was unable to 
give to his ; for, with some ability, the ambitious professor 
was not one of Nature's poets at all, and the " Lays of the 
Scottish Cavaliers" are like one of those deceitful, dried-up 
brooks of the East to which, in the words of Job, " the com- 
panies came hither and w^ere ashamed ;" while Mrs. Men- 
teath's are refreshing, pure, and perennial as those streams 
of living water which, in apocalyptic vision, the rapt seer of 
Patmos saw meandering through the plains of heaven. 

This gifted lady is not only the poet of suftering human- 
ity, and of the basely and wrongfully oppressed Covenanters, 
but she is also the sweet singer of Nature, with her boundless 
and numberless beauties ; and the influence of the varied and 



38 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

delightful scenery of her native Galloway is largely seen 
and felt in her fresh and vigorous poems. The lone crest 
of the mountain, Cairnharrow's lofty l)row ; the woods of 
summer green, with their dew-dripping branches ; the blue- 
bells by the brook ; the little gleaming lakes ; the quiet 
valleys ; the grey mists creeping over the hills ; the clear 
and indescribable beauty of the light of the jiutumn morn- 
ino; ; the lichen-covered stones which mark the martyrs' 
graves, with "the murmur loud and cadence low" of the 
never-silent sea, give visions of delight and glow through 
that vigorous and harmonious verse of hers, which, wlien 
once read, can never be forgotten, but keeps sounding on in 
the ear of memory through all the after life. 

A long: life of exile on the Continent, at first for the 
health of her children, latterly for her own, has, nevertheless, 
left Mrs. Mentcath with heart as warm as ever towards all 
that relates to the Covenanting times ; but these same cir- 
cumstances have not only prevented her from publishing 
any other volume, but even from l)ringing out any new 
edition of her fervid and patriotic " Lays," as she at one 
time intended, and ought to do, seeing that they have been 
out of print, and much sought after, for more than thirty 
years. 



[NTKODUCTION. 39 



IXTRODICTION TO -LAYS OF THE KIRK AND 

COVENANT." 

" Till (loomsday shall come, they shaU never see the Kirk of Scotland and our 
CuvL-iiant burnt tu ashes; or, if it should be thrown in the fire, yet it cannot be so 
l)urMt or buried as not to have a resurrection."— Samuel Ki-therford. 

Scotland! hallowed in thy story. 

Who would trace thiue annals right. 
One peculiar page of glor}^, 

Ever brightens on his sight ! 
Not the honors, far descended, 

Of thine ancient hero kinffs; 
Xot thy bulwarlvs, blood defended— 

These are but thy meaner things I 
True, the pulse exulting flutters; 

True, our souls within us burn, 
Trumpet names as Freedom utters, 

Wallace, Bruce, and Bannockburn ! 
But a holier joy subdues us. 

Tracing, while our heartstrings thrill, 



40 POETRY OF THE COVEMANT. 

How the Saviour deigned to clioose us, 

In his cause to suffer still ! 
Honored be the patriot story! 

Well may Scottish hearts beat high ; 
Yet a far-excelling glory 

Glads the heaven-anointed eye — 
Heritage, unbought, unpriced, 
Rich in the reproach of Christ! 

Early — early, on our mountains, 

Presage of a glorious day. 
Pure, as from its native fountains. 

Faintly broke the Gospel ray. 
Storm and cloud the pathway covers. 

By our rude forefathers trod ; 
Yet that dawning brightness hovers 

Where St. Columb walked with God : 
Ever broadening, ever w^elling. 

From lona's holy home 
Poured the radiance, sin-dispelling, 

Till it met the fogs of Rome! 

Dark eclipse the earth then shrouded : 

Lurid phantasms filled the air ; 
But the glorious sun, though clouded, 

Shorn, and beamless, still ivas there! 
Witness, many a faint forewarning, 

Struggling through the night of crime; 
Prescient of a second dawning 

Of the Gospel's noonday prime. 
Streaks, that like the northern light, 
Shoot in promise up the night I 



INTRODUCTION. 41 

Lo! it comes! the mist hath risen— 

Martyr pyres the gloom dispel; 
Scotland wakes, and bursts her prison, 

Lighted by the flames of hell ! 
Rome hath wrought her own undoing; 

Eome infatuate ! Rome accurst! 
All her fabric, one vast ruin, 

Crumbles 'neath the thunderburst ! 
Fierce the strife, and tierce the slaughter; 

Blood her rubbish moistens o'er, 
Even till error's lovliest daughter 

Falls upon a hostile shore! 
Poor forfeit to the fatal band,* 
Once lightly sealed with careless hand! 
Twice crowned Queen— thrice wedded wife- 
More regal in her death than life ! 

Now the infant church hath quiet; 

Surely now her toils may cease ! 
O'er the wild waves' rout and riot 

Broods the halcyon wing of peace ! 
Rome hath wrought her own undoing! 

Papal fires no longer blaze! 
Ah! but forth the mighty ruin. 

What new portents mar our gaze ! 
Sin, the fiend! is hydra-headed— 

Far the church's promised rest; 



* An allusion to the infamous League of Bayonne, the egg from which the Massa- 
cre of St. Bartholomew was hatched, and to which Mary Queen of Scots was a con- 
senting party. 



42 roETHY OF THE COVENANT. 

Avarice, with ambition wedded, 
Points new weapons at her breast ! 

Brief her Murray's true upholding — 
Nor tears nor prayers protract its si^an ; 

And the helm falls from his holding 
Who never feared the face of man!* 

While myriad mischiefs swarming spring, 

From minions of a minion King I 

Ah! the eye is sicli with seeing; 

Ah! the heart is faint with fear. 
Clouds athwart the horizon fleeing. 

Harbingers of tempest near ! 
God hath laid to sleep his chosen ; 

Who the mighty shall withstands 
And the tide of faitli seems fro/en 

In the winter of the land! 
For a space it darkens, darkens, 

Hope and promise in the tomb ! 
But the Lord looks down, and hearkens 

Sobs of prayer amid the gloom ! 
'• Nay, my people — not forsaken. 

Though afflicted sore thou art. 
Of my strength thj' hold is taken; 

Th}^ fresh springs are in my heart! 
From the deep vault of the prison; 

From the lone isle of the sea ; 
From thy banished ones hath risen 

An accepted voice to me! 



* John Knux. 



INTRODl'CTION. ^ 43 

Chosen in affliction's waters, 

Chosen 'neath the oppressor's rod. 
I have sealed th}^ sons and daughters 

In a covenant with God! 
Pass thou on, a sign and wonder. 

As my nation was of yore; 
In the secret place of thunder 

I have laid thy help in store I 
Quit thy hold of earthly favor; 

Touch not the accursed thing! 
Monarchs must abhor thy savor 

While the}^ set at naught thy King! 
Part not — halve not thine allegiance, 

Till I couie to claim mine own ; 
In the woe of thine obedience 

Bear my Ci'oss and guard my Crown, 
All its thorns in thy true sight, 
Transfigured into beams of light I*" 

Thus, a witness to the Churches, 

Scotland's Church hath ever been — 
Carnal men, with vain researches. 

Musing what the sign may mean! 
Like her Master, poor and lowly. 

Seeking naught of price below. 
All she claims, with freedom holy. 

Still about His work to go; 
Coveting nor wealth nor station; 

Terrible to naught but sin; 
Mean in outward estimation. 

She is glorious within ! 
Trace her unmolested a'oins: — 



44 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

Caesar finds observance meet; 
Living waters round lier flowing, 

Oh, how beautiful her feet! 
Hope, o'er those broad waters gliding, 

Fast pursues the waning night, 
And the home of her abiding. 

Gathers still and radiates light! 
Strange ! that in her pathway ever 

Strifes and oppositions spring; 
Nay! she sows beside the river, 

And her shout is of a King! 

Since from Herod's couch the slumber 

Parted at the wise men's word. 
Kings and rulers without number 

Band themselves against the Lord! 
Tolls a death-knell through their riot; 

Shakes a terror 'neath their scorn; 
And they seek, with vain disquiet, 

For the Babe in Bethlehem born ! 
Hating still, in deadliest measure. 

Who that rising sceptre own ; 
Marring all their pomp and pleasure 

With the shadow of a throne ! 
True ! they kneel with feigned behavior, 

Myrrh and frankincense will bring ; 
Priest and Prophet own the Saviour, 

But — they crucify the King! 
Wouldst thou hail an earthly Master, 

Then the world would love its own! 
Grasp thy banner- truth the faster — 

See that no man take thy crown ! 



INTRODUCTION. 45 

Hope thou not, then, earth's alliance; 

Take thy stand beside the Cross; 
Fear, lest by unblest compliance, 

Thou transmute thy gold to dross I 
Steadfast in thy meek endurance. 

Prophesy in sackcloth on— 
Hast thou not the pledged assurance, 

Kings one day shall kiss the Son? 
Oft thy foes may triumjDh o'er thee ; 

Tread thy carcass in the street ; 
Sing aloud the hate they bore thee — 

Thou Shalt stand upon thy feet! 
Life through all thy veins returning, 

In the sight of those who doomed — 
And the Bush, for ever burning, 

Never — never — be consumed! 

Now unto the hill-toi)s get thee 

Whence the sunrise we descr^^ ; 
Nightly on thy watch tower set thee, 

For his coming draweth nigh ! 
Tell the nations of the glory 

Through the blackness we discern ; 
Sound a trumpet with the story 

Of the King who shall return ! 
Call to Judah in her blindness; 

Bid benighted Israel hear; 
Drop the word of truth and kindness 

On the heathen's palsied ear! 
Trim thy lamp — the night-hours cheering; 

Wash thy robes from every stain ; 
Watch, to hail the glad appearing 



48 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

Of the bridegroom and his train! 
Haste ! th}^ coming Lord to greet I 
Cast thy crown before his feet! 
Only, may his quest for thee 
Find thee — what he made thee — Free! 



A MAKTVK'S (JIJAVE. 



A MARTYR'S R A V E . 

Far off amidst the hills 

The wild bird hath her nost. 
And the loud trickling- nioimtain rills 

Gladden the eartli's green breast; 
And there the sun's last rays are thrown. 
And there the storm-cloud broods alone. 
And Spring's soft dews, and Summer's glai-i 
Freshen and fade the wild flowers there! 

Why should 1 seek the spoty 

Are there not lovelier scenes by far. 
Wild woods, where day intrudeth not. 

Skies that neglect the star? 
Why should I track the hunter's path, 
Why should I brave the tempest's wrath, 
To stand with thee, at evening lone, 
Beside a lichen-mantled stone? 

Hush I this is holy ground. 
Thou who this very day hast prayed. 



48 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

Thy cbildren kneeling all around, 

None making thee afraid, 
Muse on that time when praise and prayer 
Ascended through the midnight air, 
Only from lips and hearts nerved high. 
To glorify their God and die ! 

This is a martyr's grave ! 

And surely here the dews are given 
In richer showers, and wild flowers wave 

More in the smile of heaven ! 
And something in the stirring air 
Tells us that angel wings are there; 
And angel watchers keep the space, 
To be their own sweet resting place.'' 



* 



They feared to tell his mother, 

A widow poor and lone. 
She had been deaf for many a year, 

But she caught the first low tone I 
Then suddenly stopped the whirring wheel. 

And suddenly snapped the thread I 
As she tossed her withered arms to heaven. 

With one wild heart-cry — Dead! 
Well hast thou sped, my dear, dear son I 

Soon hast thou reached the goal : — 
The cruel archers shot at thee, 

But they could not reach thy soul! 



TEDEN AT THE GRAVE OK CAMERON. 4) 



PEDEN AT THE GRAVE OF CAMERON. 

A sound of conflict in the moss! but that hath passed away, 
And through a stormy noon and eve the dead unburied lay; 
But when the sun a second time his fitful splendors gave, 
One slant ray rested, like a hope, on Cameron's new made 
grave ! 

There had been watchers in the night ! strange watchers gaunt 

and grim, 
And wearily, with faint lean hands, they toiled a grave for 

him; 
But ere they laid the headless limbs unto their mangled rest, 
As orphaned children sat they down, and wept upon his breast. 

O ! dreary, dreary, was the lot of Scotland's true ones then, 
A famine-stricken remnant, wearing scarce the guise of men; 
Thej'^ burrowed, few and lonely, 'mid the chill, dank mountain 

caves. 
For those who once had sheltered them were in their martyr 

graves ! 



50 rOETIiY OF THE COVENANT. 

A s.v.)rl !iil restel oa th3 li;iJ— "t did njt pxii away. 

Long had they watched and waited, but there dawned no 

brighter day 
And many had gone back from them, who owned the truth of 

old; 
Because of much iniquity their love was waxen cold I 

Tliere came a worn and weary man to Cameron's place of rest, 
He cast him down upon the sod; he smote upon his breast; 
He wept as only strong men weep, when weep they must, of 

die; 
And, " Oh! to be wi' thee, Kichie!" was still his bitter cry! 

•' yiy brother! O my brother! thou hast passed before thy time, 
And thy blood it cries for vengeance, from this purple land of 

crime ; 
Who now shall break the bread of life unto the faithful band 
Who now upraise the standard that is shattered in thine hand? 

" Alas! alas! for Scotland! the once beloved of heaven; 
The cfDwn is fallen from her head, her holy garment riven. 
The ashes of her Covenant are scattered far and near. 
And the voice speaks loud in judgment, which in love she 
would not hear! 

'• Alas! alas! for Scotland! for her mighty ones are gone. 

Thou, brother, thou art taken; I am left almost alone; 

And my heart is faint within me, and my strength is dried and 

lost, 
A feeble and an aged man — alone against a host! 

'' O pleasant was it, Richie, when we two could counsel take 
And strengthen one another to be valiant for his sake. 



TEDEN AT THE GRAVE OF CAMERON. 51 

Xow seems it as the sap were dried from the old bhisted tree, 
And the homeless, and the friendless, would fain lie down 
with thee!" 

It was an hour of weakness, as the old man bowed his head ; 
And a bitter anguish rent him, as he communed with the dead. 
It was an hour of conflict, and he groaned beneath the rod; 
But the burthen rolled from off him as he communed with his 
God! 

" My Father! O my Father! shall I pray the Tishbite's prayer, 
And weary in the wilderness, while Thou wouldst keep me 

there? 
And shall I fear the coward fear, of standing all alone, 
To testify for Zion's King, and the glory of His throne? 

'• O Jesus! blessed Jesus! I am poor, and frail, and weak. 

Let me not utter of mine own, for idle words I speak; 

Cut give me grace to wrestle now, and prompt my faltering 

tongue, 
And breathe Thy name into my soul, and so I shall be strong! 

" I bless Thee for the quiet rest Thy servant taketh now; 
I bless Thee for his blessedness, and for his crowned brow; 
For every weary step he trode, in faithful following Thee, 
AVnd for the good flghtfoughten well, and closed right valiant- 
ly! 

'' I bless Thee for the hidden ones, who yet uphold Thy name, 
Who yet for Zion's King and Crown shall dare the death of 

shame. 
I bless Thee for the light that dawns even now upon my soul. 
And brightens all the narrow way with glory from the goal ! 



52 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

" The hour and power of darkness— it is fleeting fast away. 
Light shall arise on Scotland, a glorious gospel day. 
Wo! Wo! to the opposers; they shall shrivel in His hand. 
Thy King shall yet appear for thee, thou covenanted land! 

" I see a time of respite, but the people will not bow; 
I see a time of judgment, even a darker time than now. 
Then, Lord, uphold Thy faithful ones, as now Thou dost up- 
hold ; 
And feed them, as Thou still hast fed T'hy chosen flock of old! 

" The glory ! O the glory ! it is bursting on my sight. 

Lord! thy poor vessel is too frail for all this blinding light! 

Now let Thy good word be fulfilled, and let Thy kingdom 
come; 

And, Lord, even in Thine own best time, take Thy poor ser- 
vant home!'' 

Upon the wild and lone Airsmoss, down sank the twilight 

gray; 
In storm and cloud the evening closed upon that cheerless 

day; 
But Peden went his way refreshed, for peace and joy were 

given. 
And Cameron's grave had proved to him the very gate of 

heaven! 



THE SIGNING OF THE COVENANT. 53 



THE SIGXOG OF THE COVENANT. 

I'm old! I'm old! I'm veiy frail! my eyes are dim with age. 
Scarce can I trace the words of life upon this sacred page. 
Then out upon the unquiet heart that yearns, and will not rest. 
To be where Scotland rallies now her truest and her best! 

I heard them with the earliest dawn! I heard them gathering 

fast ! 
A sound, as on the mighty sea, the menace of the blast; 
A mingled sound of thousand feet, and voices blent in one, 
And on the living spring-tide swept— and I was left alone! 

Alone! alone! oh wearily the day hath lingered by! 

With now and then a far-off shout, cleaving the distant sky; 

Yet have I wrestled with my God, some hours as moments 

past; 
But age halts soon— my son, my son! it is thy step at last ! 

" Father! a solemn eve hath fallen, a mighty deed is done : 
Pledged to his country and his God, receive and bless thy son, 
And pray, my father, ceaseless pray, that I may never shame 
The oath of God, to which, this day, I have affixed my name! 



54 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

— "We met within the ancient walls, where once the Grey- 
friars ruled, 

A concourse vast of earnest men, in common danger schooled ; 

Earth's titled ones, God's ministers, poor, rich, together 
driven ; 

Christ's flock, awaiting, 'neath the storm, their Shepherd's 
sign from heaven I 

"And solemnly, oh solemnly! went up the breath of praj^er. 
The silence, as a shadow, brooding o'er the thousands there: 
Only the pulse of each strong heart amid the stillness heard, 
Through which the voice of Henderson a nation's suit pre- 
ferred ! 

" A}^ father! there was One, amid our convocation then. 
Whose eyes are as a flame of fire, to search the souls of men ; 
Whose Spirit, moving wondrously, from heart to heart, can 

bring 
A willing people to the feet of their Almighty King! 

" And when the noble Loudon spake of Scotland's Gospel 

prime, 
Her covenants of other days, her glad espousal time, 
How fearless, through the wilderness, her God she followed 

still. 
And found a very present help in every time of ill, 

" Till one by one, her mighty men were gathered to their 
graves. 

And sons, degenerate from their sires, made Christ's own free- 
men slaves. 

Discrowning His anointed head to gem an eartlily brow; 

Making onr Father's holj^ house the ruin it is now! — 



TilE SIGNING OF THE COVENANT. 55 

" Oh! then there was such weeping-, through that bowed and 

silent throng, 
Such self-accusing bitterness for guilt contracted long, 
Such binding of the broken vows upon the soul once more. 
That very moment made us free, as we were free of yore! 

" And now, with tone distinct and clear, as one whose word 

is power, 
Johnston of Warriston stood forth, (God's gift in danger's 

hour,) 
A mighty parchment in his hand, from which he read, the 

while 
A sudden sunburst tilled the place with heaven's approving 

smile! 

" He ended, and there was a pause — a pause of holy fear — 
Who, to attest the oath of God, shall first adventure near; 
It was not doubt, but solemn awe, and self-distrusting shame, 
And that each deemed his brother boreale^ unworthy name! 

" Till the good Earl of Sutherland — the brave old Earl and 

true. 
One moment bowed his reverent head, then toward the table 

drew ; 
' So deal my God with me, and mine, till latest ages be. 
As we prove steadfast in this bond, I bind on them and me!" 

'^ Then followed Kothes quickly on — Cassilis, and Hay. and 

Home; 
Montrose, as if almost he grudged to lose the foremost room ; 
Loudon, his country's beacon-light amid her mirkiest hour, 
With many a noble name beside, a kingdom's hope and flower ! 



56 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

" I^ow Henderson, the called of God; Dickson, the owned of 

heaven ; 
(Surely a blessing waits the land to which such guides are 

given!) 
Guthrie, as though upon the cast his life he longed to stake; 
And Rutherford, w^ith look inspired, as if his Master spake! 

"- Bless God, my father, who hath lent the land we love so well. 
Sons valiant for the truth on earth, more than my tongue can 

tell. 
To name but those alread}' proved by many a searching test, 
Would wile us from the hour of prayer, and steal thy midnight 

rest ! 

"Yet must thou hear: when all had signed within the house 

of God, 
How still a multitude without, each on the other trode, 
Pressing with fervent footsteps on, and many an earnest prayer. 
That they in Scotland's Covenant might register their share! 

"Oh! Arthur's Seat gave back the shout of that assembled 

crowd, 
As one bare forth the might}" bond, and many wept aloud; 
They spread it on a tombstone head, (a martyr slept beneath,) 
And some subscribed it with their blood, and added ' Until 

death!' 

"Ay! young and old were moved alike with prayers, and 

groans, and tears. 
Surel}^ the fruit of such a day is j^et for many years ! 
And, ow^ned in heaven, the strong appeal of each uplifted 

hand. 
As evening's sun w^ent down upon the covenanted land!'' 



THE SIGNING OF THE COVENANT. 57 

— That old man rose up in his place, he bared his locks of 

gray ; 
" Lord, let thy servant now depart, for I have seen this day; 
Upon my head in early youth, John Knox's hand hath lain. 
And I have seen his buried work unsepulchered again! 

" Speed on thou covenanted cause ! God's blessing upon thee ! 
Baptized in Scotland's dearest blood albeit thou needs must 

be. 
Christ came not to send peace on earth — onl}^ may that red 

rain 
Still fructify thy living seed^till He return again! 

'• My country! Oh my country! j^eafor thee the light is sown. 
On]y be steadfast in thy trust — let no man take thy crown! 
Thine be the standard-bearer's place! the post of suffering 

high. 
God's blessins: on the Covenant — I'll sio-n it ere I die!'' 



58 Poetry of the covenant. 



THE MARTYRS OF WKJTON. 

Ay! bonnie hills of Galloway I the clouds above ye driven 

Make pleasant shadows in your depths, with glints and gleams 
of heaven; 

And ye have fairy, hidden lakes, deep in your secret breast. 

Which shine out suddenly like stars, as the sunbeams go to rest ; 

And ye have dells, and greenwood nooks, and little valleys 
still, 

Where the wild bee bows the harebell down, beside the moun- 
tain rill ; 

And over all, gray Cairnsmore glooms, a monarch stern and 
lone. 

Though the heather climbs his barrenness, and purples half 
his throne ! 

O bonnie hills of Galloway! oft have [ stood to see, 
At sunset hour, your shadows fall, all darkening on the sea; 
While visions of the buried years came o'er me in their might, 
As phantoms of the sepulchre, instinct with inward light! 
The years, the years, when Scotland groaned beneath her 
tyrant's hand. 



THE MARTYRS OF WI(5tON. 59 

And it was riot for the heather, she was called " the purple 

land;" 

And it was not for their loveliness, her children blessed their 

God 
For the secret places of the hills, and the mountain heights 

untrod. 

Oh ! as a rock, those memories still breast time's surging flood ; 
Her more than twice ten torture j^ears of agony and blood ! 
A lurid beacon light, they gleam upon her pathway now; 
They sign her with the Saviour's seal — His cross upon her 

brow ! 
And never may the land whose flowers spring fresh from 

martyr graves, 
A moment's parley hold with Rome, her mimics, or her slaves ; 
A moment palter with the chains, w hose scars are on her j'^et. 
Earth must give up the dead again, ere Scotland can forget! 

— A grave, a grave is by the sea, in a place of ancient tombs; 

A restless murmuring of waves for ever o'er it comes; 

A pleasant sound in summer tide — a requiem low and clear; 

But oh! when storms are on the hill, it hath a voice of fear! 

So rank and high the tomb weeds wave around that humble 
stone. 

Ye scarce may trace the legend rude, with lichen half over- 
grown. 

But ask the seven years' child that sits beside the broken wall ; 

He will not need to spell it o'er — his heart hath stored it all! 

A peasant's tale — a humble grave; two names on earth un- 
known ; 
But Jesus bears them on His heart before the eternal throne! 



60 rOETllY OF THE COVENANT. 

And kin^s, and heroes, yet shall come, to wish their lot were 

bound 
With those poor women slumbering- beneath the wave girt 

ground ! 
The earth keeps many a memory of blood as water poured ; 
The peasant summoned at his toil, to own and meet his Lord; 
The secret hungering in the hills, where none but God might 

see — 
Ay! Earth had many martyrs, but these were of the sea! 

" The redcoats, lass ! the redcoats ! " cry the weans from off the 

street. 
Who knows but Claver\se' evil eye, maj^ blast them if thej^ 

meet? 
Nay ! onl}^ Bruce and Windman come ! but, oh ! wae worth the 

way; 
They have gotten Gilbert Wilson's bairns in their cruel hands 

to-day! 
See Annie! bonnie Annie! oh, but she is wasted sore 
With weary wandering in the hills this seven month and more; 
And Margaret, with her bleeding feet and weather-stained 

brow — 
But surely One alone could breathe the calm upon it now ! 

— She recks not of the jibing words those ruthless soldiers 

speak ; 
She recks not of her bleeding feet, her frame so worn and 

weak ; 
She sees not even the pitying looks that follow as she goes; 
Her soul is filled so full with prayer that God alone she knows ! 
Long hath she looked for such a day with awe and shuddering 

dread; 



THE MARTYRS OF WIGTON. 61 

Its terror in the night hath fallen, haunting her cavern bed; 
And she hath pra3'ed in agony that, if he might not spare, 
Jesus would bear her charges then — and he hath heard her 
prayer ! 

They have brought her to their judgment-hall, a narrow prison- 
room ; 

And once she looked up, as they crossed, from sunlight into 
gloom ; 

And a sound of bitter weeping close beside her now she hears, 

And she wished her hands unshakled, just to dry her mother's 
tears ! 

They have questioned of her wanderings ; they have mocked 
her with their words; 

They have asked her if the Covenant could shield her from 
their swords, 

Or if she sought a miracle to test her call the more, 

That she ventured to her father's home — right past the curate's 
door! 

rhey questioned her with cruel taunts, and waited for reply. 
She met her father's look of woe, her mother's streaming eye. 
A moment quivered all her frame ; strange gaspings choked 

her breath ; 
Then fell the words forth, one by one, as from the lips of death : 
" The blink of our own ingle, it came glancing o'er the tide, 
And we were wet and weary both upon the mountain side. 
My very heart grew sick within my father's face to see, 
And Annie yearned to rest her head upon my mother's knee ! 

" O men ! but they are bitter tears ye cause the houseless weep, 
With haunting thoughts of food and tire that will not let them 
sleep; 



62 rOETKY OF THE COVENANT. 

And temptings of home words and ways, even whispering as 

they pray, 
Until Another takes the load, once tempted even as they!" 
There was a murmur through the crowd — first hope, and then 

despair, 
For in the scoffing laugh of Bruce was that that could not 

spare : 
" O lass! ye should have ta'en the bay e'er there was light to 

see!" 
She answered to that pitying voice — " I dared na for the sea!" 

Alas ! it is a little stroke draws from the flint the fire ; 
And but a little spark may light the ir'irtyr's funeral pyre. 
And in the hearts of evil men such mischiefs smoldering herd, 
That cruel thought, to cruel deed, may kindle as a word! 
"Ho! Ho! the sea! the raging sea! and can it tame your 

fjride ? 
My sooth! we'll frame a Covenant with the advancing tide. 
To-morrow, when the dawn is chill, in Blednoch Bay we'll 

see 
What mild persuasion harbors in the cold kiss of the sea!" 

A man is striken to the earth by that strange voice of doom; 
The mother pleads not — knows not — all is blackness in the 

room ; 
As if smit with sudden blindness she goes groping from the 

door, 
And they hinder her to follow who shall see her face no more ! 
But the father! O the father! 't was a timid man and weak; 

Complying still with every time, he had his faith to seek; 
And now, within his heart and brain, a dreadful sound he hears, 
A sound of rushing waters — but they find no vent in tears I 



THE MARTYRS OF WIGTON. 63 

God help him! He hath need of prayer, and knows not how 

to pray ; 
He gasps out vain appeals to men who scoff, and turn away ; 
Madly he grovels in the dust, in desperate anguish now. 
Until he feels his Margaret's kiss, like dew upon his brow : 
" God help thee, father! O this sight is pitiful to see! 
Canst thou not give thy child for Him, who gave his Son for 

thee? 
Trust me, dear father. He is near. His promise to f ultil. 
In passing through the waters He will be beside us still!" 

— It is the solemn evening hour, the seal of that sad day, 
And the rich purple of the hills, is blending all to gray ; 
And from the cloud thrones of the west the last bright gleam 

hath lied. 
And the moon riseth, white and wan, as a watcher o'er the 

dead! 
— Sits Gilbert Wilson by his hearth, one child beside his knee ; 
O cheaply ransomed with his all ! a ruined man is he ; 
For his poor life, and those poor hoards, the Cross he dared to 

shun, 
All proffered now for his two barins, and they have bought him 

07ie ! 

He sits beside his blackened hearth, unconscious of its gloom ; 
A chill hath gathered at his heart that mocks at that cold room. 
There is no food upon the board, no kindled rush to guide 
The gudewife at her nightly task of spinning by his side; 
And savyig that at times his hand, as if to prove her there. 
Strays in the darkness, trembling, amid his Annie's hair; 
And saving that the mother's moan at times will make him 
start, 



64 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

Ye might have deemed the mighty grief had burst the feeble 
heart ! 

O! prison bars are stark and strong to shut out light and air, 
And yet the moonlight's sympathy — it stealeth even there ; 
A glory on the dungeon floor as on the free green sod ; 
A voiceless messenger of peace to souls at peace with God ! 
And Margaret sitteth in its beam, its radiance on her brow, 
As though the crown she soon shall wear were brightening 

o'er her now; 
With folded hands upon her knee, and half suspended breath. 
Listing to one who shares her cell and soon must share her 

death ! 

A solemn place, a solemn time, for parted friends to meet; 

Yet in their same extremity their communing is sweet; 

And while in prayer and praise fleet by the watches of the 

night. 
Faith, like the moonbeam, enters in and floods the grave with 

light ! 
Oh! youth and age, contrasted well, in mutual help ye blend; 
This tells of the unchanging God — that of the Saviour friend; 
One tramples life's new springing flowers for her Kedeemer's 

sake; 
The other stays her age on Him who never can forsake ! . 

Long had they loved, as Christians love — those two so soon to 

die; 
And each the other greeted first, with weeping, silently. 
The matron wept that that young life, so timelessly must cease ; 
The maiden that that honored head must not go down in peace. 
But soon — oh, soon — it passed away, the coward thought and 

base. 



THE MAIJTYRS OF WIGTON. (\o 

And each looked huiiibl}^ thankfully, into the other's face: 
" Mother! He rales the awful sea with all its waters wild''— 
" The many waters are His voice of love to thee, my child!" 

—The guards are met; the stakes are set— deep, deep within 

the sand ; 
One far toward the advancing tide, one nearer to the land; 
And all along the narrow shore that girdles in the bay, 
Small groups of anxious watchers come, as wane the stars 

away ! 

Low lie the fog clouds on the hills, blank in their curtained 

screen ; 
Each crest of beauty veils its brow, from that abhorred scene; 
While eastward far, the straining eye, through mist and gloom, 

may see 
Large raindrops plashing heavily into a dull, sad sea! 

—They come— they come— a distant sound!— a measured 
marching, soon 

On mail-clad men the dew drops rain from off thy woods, 
Baldoon! 

The trodden grass, the trampled flowers— alas ! poor emblems 

they. 
Of all a despot's iion heel was crushing down that day. 
They shall revive! the harebell, see-uprears its crest again; 
The falling dew hath cleansed anew its purity from stain; 
And thus beneath the oppressor's tread, and hell's opposing 

powers, 

God's truth throughout the land shall spring-a sudden growth 
of flowers! 

Ah! little Margaret's playmates deemed, in childhood's frolic 
glee, 
5 



66 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

What shadow of a coming hour still scared her at the sea; 
The worli is done ! the strife is won I the conflict passed away ; 
Rule o'er these wrecks of human kind ! and triumph if ye may ! 
High hearts once beat beneath the vest a Scottish peasant wears. 
Go I seek them in their martyr graves! for these are not their 

heirs ! 
Only a seed the mountains keep, till God's good time shall 

come, 
And the harvest, sown in blood and tears, be brought with 

shoutings home! 

A so and — itcometh from the sea! and many a cheek is pale; 
A freshening wind — and fast behind, that hurrying voice of 

wail : 
" Beshrew my heart!" cries Windram now; '* haste, comrades 

while ye may ! 
With Solway speed, I red your heed, the tide comes in to-day. 
Xow, mother, to the stake amain! j^our praying time is past; 
Or pray the breakers, if ye will, they race not in so fast!" 
Her grey hairs streaming on the wind, they bear her to the 

bay, 
While nearer roars the hungry sea that ravens for its prey ! 

And Margaret stands, with cold clasped hands, that bitter 

sight to see; 
And now toward her own death-place they guide her silently ; 
A sudden impulse swayed the crowd, as those young limbs 

were bound ; 
A moment's movement stilled as soon ; a shiver through a 

wound ! 
And they have left her all alone with that strong sea before, 
A prayer of faith's extremity faint mingling with its roar; 



THE MARTYRS OF WIGTON. 67 

And on the eyes that cannot close, those grey hairs streaming 

still; 
While round about, with hideous rout, the wild waves work 

their will! 

"Ho! maiden! ho! what see'st thou there?" 'Tis Windram's 

brutal voice : 
" Methinks an early portion now were scarce beneath thy 

choice! 
Yon sea-birds, screaming in their glee, how low they sv/oop 

to-day! 
Now tell us, lass ! what dainty cheer allures them in the bay?" 
A change hath passed on that young brow— a glow, a light 

from heaven ; 
Above the sea, the lowering sky to her seems glory riven : 
" It is my Saviour wrestling there in those poor limbs I see; 
lie who is strength in death to her hath strength in death for 

me!" 

And sudden, from those parted lips, rich tones of triumph 

come. 
Her fear is past; she stands, at last, superior to her doom! 
And strains, in midnight watchings learned, on many a blasted 

heath. 
Swell slowly, solemnly, to heaven— the anthem of her death; 
Strange sweetness vibrates on the gale. It rises o'er the sea 
As though an angel choir prolonged that thrilling harmony! 
And still the song of faith and praise swells louder, clearer yet. 
While to her feet the foam wreaths curl, and the dry sand 

grows wet ! 

—A yell! it echoes from the hills! it pealeth to the sky! 
Startling wild creatures of the woods with its wild agony; 



68 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

And bounding on from rock to rock, with gaunt arms tossed 

to heaven, 
And maniac gestures, scaring still the crowd before him driven, 
A haggard man hath gained the bay, with blood-shot eyes and 

wild ; 
And cast him down at Windram's feet, and shrieked, "My 

child I my child!" 
Poor Margaret heard, as died hei'song. in one convulsive gasp, 
And the rushing waters bound her in the terror of their clasp? 

" My child ! my child I she shall not die — I've gold, I've gold," 

he cried ; 
" I found one heart that pitied me, though all were stone be- 
side. 
Ye said that for a hundred pounds, the oaths' ye'd proffer 

still- 
Spare the young life! she'll take your tests I I know, I know 

she Willi" 
Dark Windram glanced upon the gold ; he glanced upon the sea : 
' ' Laggard, thou comest late,'' he said, ' she might have lived 

forme!'' 
But two strong swimmers at the word plunge headlong in the 

wave ; 
They reach the stake — the cords they break — not, not toojlate 

to save ! 

And women throng to chafe her hands and raise her drooping 

head, 
Dropping warm tears on the cold brow, so calm, so like the 

dead. 
While that poor father, crouching near, creeps shuddering to 

her feet. 



THE MARTYRS OF WIGTON 69 

x\nd steals his hand up to her heart to count its earliest beat! 
Just then, athwart two glooming- clouds the morning sun made 

way, 
Lighting a glory on the wave, a sunbow in the spray; 
And up the hills the mist wreaths rolled, revealing half their 

frame, 
And Margaret in the gleam awoke and breathed her Saviour's 

name ! 

Dark Windram turned him on his heel ; he paced apart awhile : 
" Oh for the heart of Claver'se now — to do this work and 

smile ! 
Come, girl, be ruled! thou'st proved enough, methinks, yon 

bitter brine; 
We'll find the partans fitter food than these young limbs of 

thine ! 
Hold off, and let me near to her! beshrew this snivelling ring. 
Ho, lass! stand up upon thy feet, and pray, 'God save the 

king!'" 
•' To die unsaved were horrible," she said, with low sad voice ; 
" Oh yes! God save him if he will ! the angels would rejoice !" 

Then up he sprang, that trembling man, low cowering at her 

feet: 
" 'Tis said — 'tis said — my blessed bairn! those words of life 

repeat!" 
And Windram signalled with his hand, and rose a shout on 

high ; 
Strange blessings on the tyrant's head ! — but ere it reached the 

sky, 
A miscreant foul hath stopped its course, and baulked the 
echoes near: 



70 . POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

They could not catch a sound that died like curses on the ear! 
A spare, mean man, with shutiling gait, hath pressed before 

the rest : 
" 'Tis well to pray ' God save the King;' but will she take the 

Test?" 

And Windram looked into his face and cursed his civil sneer. 
He knew him for the tool of Grahame — his spy, and creature 

there ; 
A curate's hrother creeping up, in those ill times, to place; 
Trained in apostasy from God to all things vile and base! 
'' Well! well! Sir Provost, work your will; this gear is to your 

mind. 
Forme, I'd rather fight with men, than choke this woman 

kind; 
Bid her abjure the Covenant — none better knows the how! 
There's scarce an oath on either side but j^ou have gulped ere 

now!*' 

Smooth smiling stood the provost forth; no chaffing stirred 

his blood. * 

Something he muttered of '' King James," '' the law," and 

"public good;" 
And then, as angry brows grew dark, and women muttered 

loud, 
He shrank towards the soldiery, as though he feared the crowd ! 
Dj.ir Margaret, baulk this bloodhound yet! O spare th}- 

father's Avoe!" 
She started from their clasping arms — " I may not I — let me go ! 
Ian: the child of Christ," she said; "'Lord! break this snare 

for me!" 
And Windram turned his face aside, and pointed to the sea! 



THE MARTYRS OF WIGTON. 71 

—They will not cease— they will not sleep, those voices of the 

wave ; 
For ever, ever whispering, above the martyr's grave ; 
'Tis heard at night, 'tis heard at noon— the same low wailing 

song; 
In murmur loud, in cadence low—" How long, O Lord, how 

long!" 
A cry against thee from the tide ! O tyrant, banned of Heaven ! 
It meets the blood-voice of the earth, and answer shall be 

given ! 
A little while— the cup fills fast; it overflows for thee; 
And thine extremity shall prove the vengeance of the sea I 

Ay! gnash thy teeth in impotence! the fated hour is come; 
And ocean, with her strength of weaves, bears the avenger 

home; 
See! eager thousands throng the shore, to hail the advancing 

fleet, 
While baflled Dartmouth vainly strives that heaven-sent foe 

to meet. 
And post on hurrying post crowds fast, with tidings of dismay 
How the glassed waters lull to aid the landing of Torbay. 
Away! prepare thy coward flight; thy sceptre scourge cast 

down. 
The sea pursues thee with its curse, thou king without a crown ! 



72 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 



PATRICK HAMILTON. 

The King- is away to St. Dothess' shrine — 

On a pilgrimage he's gone; 
He hath left the Beatons place and power, 

And they'll burn young Hamilton. 

Oh! young Hamilton, from heyond the sea 
He hath strange new doctrines brought; 

And our Father the Pope says : Such heretics 
Are easier burned than taught ! 

He hath preached once — he hath preached twice, 

And the people were fain to hear; 
For, as rain on tlie new- mown grass, his voice 

Comes down on the charmed ear. 

And he tells us not, as our begging friars. 

Of indulgence the price of gold; 
But he speaks of a pardon, as sunlight free, 

That can neither be bought nor sold. 

And he tells us not of our Ladye's grace, 
B}^ aves and penance won; 



PATRICK HAMILTON. 73 

But he points the way to the Father's heart 
Through the shed blood of the Son. 

Xo crucifix in his hand he waves; 

Nor relic nor chaplet wears; 
And he spends no worship on dead men's bones, 

No faith upon dead men's prayers. 

All intercessors 'twixt earth ard heaven, 

Save Jesus — God's onl}^ One — 
He would scatter, as marsh -raised mists are driven 

From the path of the g-iorious sun. 

And ever he reads in the Book of God, 

As his very breath it were ; 
And, Oh I if his doctrine be heres^^ 

'Tls strange he should find it there! 

And ever some burtljened souls and poor 

Avouch that his words are sooth. 
And. oh I if his doctrine be heresy, 

Dear Lord ! that it were but truth ! 

— They have lured him on to St. Andrew's town 

With their cunning words and fair; 
In the dead of the night, when good men sleep, 

They have seized and bound him there. 

— James Beaton he sits on his throne of state. 

And David he sits beside; 
Was never a bloodier Prelate yet, 

Trained on by a bloodier guide. 

And knights and nobles all around — 
This world vvith its braverie ; 



74 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

It pranked not thus in the path of Him 
Whose throne was the cursed tree. 

And young Hamilton stands in his light of youth, 

With his calm and holy brow; 
And it seems as the Father's name of love 

Were beaming from it now. 

But once he spake as his doom they signed, 
When Cassilis' young Earl dre^y near; 
'' God charge not my blood on thy soul, poor child, 
And forgive who brought thee here!" 

—They have hasted down by the College wall ; 

With fagots they pile the sod ; 
But there are sore hearts for the blood of kings — 

Sore hearts for the truth of God. 

And many are gazing in silent awe, 
With thoughts that they may not speak; 

As men who awaken to feel a chain 
Erewhile they must die or break! 

The friars are mustered — white, grey, and brown- 

A motley, exulting band; 
But all eyes are turned on one Black Friar 

Who strides at the Martyr's hand — 

"Convert!" ''Convert!*' cried the Black Friar, 
" And sue for our Ladye's grace!" 
But ever the light of that holy brow 
Chased the life-blood from his face! 

Yet he set as a stone his cold grey eye, 
And he fixed his cold white face; 



PATRICK HAMILTON. ' 

And louder lie calinored — " Convert!" " Convert I"' 
" And sue for our Ladye's grace !" 

—One moment that death procession paused, 

For a cry rose hoarse and wild, 
As an old man burst through the serried crowd, 

And wept like an orphaned child. 

Full gently his hand did the martyr lay 
On that old man's hoary brow : 
'• Good friend, thou didst never forsake me yet. 
And thou hast not failed me now!" 

— ^' These weeds in the fire will not profit me — 

But thee they may profit still; 
And weep not so sore for thy master's doom — 

He but bears his Master's will ! 

■'But remember thou, and remember all. 
Good countrj^men, standing near — 
Christ Jesus our Lord will deny in heaven 
Who shall shrink to own him here. 

•' And sorrow no more for the young life quenched 
At a priestly tyrant's nod. 
No hurt is theirs in the sevenfold fire. 
Who walk with the Son of God!" 

Still " Convert!" '' Convert!" roared the Black Friar, 

As they bound him to the stake ; 
But he met a glance from the Martj'r's ej'e, 

And it made the Black Friar shake! 

' Thou evil man ! in thy heart of hearts 
Thou art witnessing a lie : 



76 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

To me hast thou owned, that for God's good truth 
I am called this day to die! 

" To His judgment-seat I appeal thee now 
Thy doom at His hand to take!" 
There fell a mist on the Black Friar, 
And he staggered from the stake! 

The dry wood crackled— the flame rose high — 
One groan from the breathless crowd ; 

But a voice came forth from the mantling fire 
As a trumpet, clear and loud. 

•'How long, O my .God! shall this darkness brood? 
How long wilt Thou stay Thine hand? 
Now gather mj'^ soul to its rest with Thee, 
And shine on my native land!" 

As the flame rose higher, the day-light paled 

With a wan and sickly light; 
And an old man sat bj^ the blackened sod — 

Alone — in the dews of night! 

But a few brief vigils had barelj^ flown 
Since that martyr passed to heaven. 

When the Black Friar died a despairing man. 
His brain all frenzy-riven! 

And even amid his dark-stoled feres 
Did the whispered word pass on : 
'He is gone, to meet at the bar of God 
With Patrick Hamilton!" 

And one vvho dared mutter a biting gibe 
In the Primate's ear — quoth he. 



PATRICK HAMILTON. 77 

" When ye next shall burn, my good lord, I pray, 
In a deep vault let it be I 

" For it seemeth as if the clouds of heaven 
Dropped heresy with their dew; 
And the smoke of youno^ Patrick Hamilton 
Hath infected where'er it blew!" 



78 FOETKY OF THE COVENANT. 



THE DEATHBED OF RUTHEKFORD. 

Tread lightly through the darkened room, for a sick man lieth 
there, 

And, 'mid the dimness, onl}^ stirs the whispered breath of pray- 
er; 

As anxious hearts take watch by turns beside the lowly bed, 

Where sleep the awful stillness wears that soon must wrap the 
dead! 

Hours hath he known of fevered pain, but now his rest is calm, 
As though upon the spirit worn distilled some healing balm. 
It may be that his dreaming ear wakes old accustomed words, 
Or drinks once more the matin song of Anworth's "blessed 
birds!"* 

O! green and fresh upon his soul, those early haunts arise. 
His kirk, his home, his wild wood walk, with all their mem- 
ories; 



* Only I think the sparrows and swallows that build their nests in the kirk of 
Anworth, " blessed birds."— Rutherford's Letters. 



THE DEATHBED OF RUTIIEKFOHD. 79 

The very rushing of the biii-n, by which so oft he trod, 
The while on eagle wings of faith his spirit met its God! 
A smile hath brightened on his lip — a light around his brow. 
Oh! surely, '' words unspeakable," that dreamer listeth now; 
And glories of the upper &ky, his raptured senses steep. 
Blent with the whispers of His love who gives His loved ones 
sleep! 

But hark! — a sound! — a tramp of horse! — aloud, harsh wrang- 
ling din! 

Oh! rudely on that dream of heaver, this world hath broken 
in. 

In vain affection's earnest plea — the intruders forward press; 

And with a stitiggling spasm of pain, he wakes to conscious- 
ness ! 

Strange lights are streaming through the room ; strange forms 

are round his bed. 
Slowly liis dazzled sense takes in each shape and sound of 

dread — 
'• False traitor to thy country's laws and to thj-^ sovereign lord, 
I summon thee to meet thy doom, thou felon Eutherford!" 

Feebly the sick man raised his hand — his hand so thin and 

pale, 
And something in the hollow eye, made that rude speaker 

quail : 
"Man! thou hast sped thine errand well! yet is it wasted 

breath. 
Except the great ones of the earth can break my tryst with 

death ! 

"A few brief days, or briefer hours and 1 am going home 



80 POETRY OF THE COVENAIsT.- 

Unto mine own prepared place where but few great ones come. 
And to the judgment seat of Him, who sealed me with His 

seal; 
'Gainst evil tongues, and evil men, I make my last appeal! 

'^ A traitor was His name on earth I a felon's doom His fate. 
Thrice welcome were my Master's cup, but it hath come too 

late. 
The summons of that mightiest King, to whom all kings must 

bow, 
Is on me for an earlier day — is on me even now! 

"I hear — I hear — the chariot wheels, that bring my Saviour 

nigh; 
For me He bears a golden crown— a harp of melody ; 
For me He opens wide His arms — He shows His wounded 

side — 
Lord! 'tis my passport into life! T live — for Thou hast died!" 

They give Ills writings to the Ihimes; they brand his grave 

with shame; 
A hissing in the mouth of fools becomes his honored name; 
And darkness wraps awhile the land, for which he prayed and 

strove. 
But blessed in the Lord his death, and blest his rest above! 



THE MAKTYi; S ClIIM). 81 



THE MARTYR'S CHILI). 

[The martyr to whom reference is here made is James 
Guthrie, whose last words were, " The Covenants ! the cov 
enants shall yet be Scotland's reviving." In the story of 
his life, as told by the Rev. Thomas Thomson, is the fol- 
lowing passage which Mrs. Menteath has made the subject 
of her touching poem : "James Guthrie had a son named 
William, about four or hve years old ; so young, indeed, 
and therefore so ignorant of the dismal tragedy that was 
approaching, that James Cowie (Mr. Guthrie's servant, 
precentor, and amanuensis) could scarcely detain him from 
playing in the streets on the day of his father's execution. 
Guthrie, whose soul yearned over his boy, so soon to be- 
come an orphan, took him upon his knee and gave him 
such advices as were suited to his capacity. He bade him 
to become serious — to become religious — and to be sure to 
devote himself to that honest and holy course in which his 
father had walked to the death. 'Willie,' he said, 'they 
will tell you, and cast up to you, that your father was hang- 
ed ; but think not shame of it, for it is upon a good cause.' * 
After the execution, the head w^as set up on the Nether 
6 



82 roETin of the coa'ETsAnI'. 

Bow Port as a spectacle for the finger of scorn to point at. 
But among those who repaired thither, and looked up at 
the long grey hairs rustling in the wind, and the features 
embrowning and drying in the sun, one little boy was oft- 
en seen gazing fixedly upon that countenance with looks 
of love and terror — and still returning, day after day, and 
hour after hour, as if there was for him a language in that 
silent head which none else could hear. And who could 
that child be but Guthrie's young son — the little ' AVillie' 
of the Martyr's last affectionate counsels and cares ? His 
love of playing in the streets was now over ; a new occu- 
pation had absorbed him ; and as he returned from these 
])ilgrimages, we may conceive with what feelings his moth- 
er heard him when, on her anxious inquiry as to where he 
had been, his usual reply was, ' I have been seeing my 
father's head !' The dying admonitions of the departed 
parent, enforced by such a solemnizing spectacle, seem to 
have sunk deep into William's heart; for it was observed 
that after his father's death, he spent much time in solitude, 
and was often employed in prayer. Resolving to walk in 
his father's steps, he directed his studies to the Church, 
and became a scholar of excellent promise ; but he died in 
early youth, when he was entering upon trials to be licensed 
as a preacher."] 

O, the sunrise! the sunrise liatii wondrous power 

To gladden all living things; 
It breaks on the chill night's niirkiest hour. 

Like a smile from the King of kings! 
'Tis earliest June, and the earth hath thrilled 

With the earnest of summer given ; 



THE 3IAUTYK'« CHILD. 83 

And the very city's self is filled 
With the breath and the beam of heaven I 

A glory is circling the stern dark brow 

Of Dunedin's fortress old, 
And a gleam is waking, more faintly now. 

Her Tolbooth prison-hold. 
Where one hath risen, but not from sleep, 

To gaze on that dawning sky — 
True wife! what aileth thee now to weep? 

Heaven brightens ere I die!'- 

There are mustering groups in the silent streets 

That are silent no longer now; 
Though briefly each other his fellow greets, 

As with doubting on his brow ! 
It seemeth as if an anguish pressed 

Alike on a nation's heart — 
One mighty load — upon every breast, 

Which yet each must bear apart ! 

And still in its joy, o'er that joyless throng, 

The brightening day-dawn smiled; 
While threading the crowd's dense maze along. 

Came an old man, and a child; 
The man was woe-worn past all relief; 

The child's young brow was fair — 
So sunny, it seemed that no frost of grief 

Could linger a moment there! 

And onward he tripped at the old man's side, 
With many a step for one ; 



84 rOETKY OF THE COVENANT. 

And smiled in the face of his ancient guide, 

As to bid his grief begone ! 
And still as the sunbeam before him danced 

On the shade of the narrow street. 
His little hands he would clap, entranced. 

And chase it with eager feet! 

" O whist ye, my bairn," said the old man then; 
" And is this a time for play'? 
Your hairs may be white, ere the half ye'll ken 
Of the loss ye shall thole this day I" 
'' Ye said I should look in my father's face, 
And sit on my father's knee. 
Long, long he has lain in yon darksome place. 
But I know he'll come home with me I" 

" wldst ye, my bairn,'' quoth the old man still : 
•• For a better home he's bound. 
But first he must suffer his Master's will. 

And lie in the chill, damp ground!" 
The child looked wistfully up again : 
*'His master is God on high; 
He sends the sun, and He stays the rain; 

He'll make it both warm and dry!" 

--The}'^ have entered in by the dismal door; 

They have mounted the weary stair; 
And the mirth of the young child's heart is o'er. 

For no sunbeam follows there ! 
With a shuddering dread, as the harsh key grates, 

By the old man's side he clings; 
But he hears a voice, and no longerwaits— 

To his father's heart h^ springs I 



THE martyr's child. 85 

"My child! my own child! am I clasping thee now? 
My God, all Thy will be done!" 
And he whom no terror of earth could bow,* 
Rained tears upon his son! 
•'Now rest thee, my Willie, upon my knee, 
For thy father's hours are brief ; 
And store up my words, with thy love for me, 
Engraved on thy heart's first grief ! 

•^They will tell thee, my bairn, that th}^ father died 

A death both of sin and shame ; 
And the finger of scorn, and the foot of pride, 

AVill be busy with my name. 
But heed them not, boy! for the cause of God 

1 render this day my breath; 
And tread thou the path that thy father trode. 

Though it lead to thy father's death!" 

•• For my Master's honor, my Master's Crown, 

A martyr 'tis mine to be ; 
And the orphan's God shall look kindly down, 

My pleasant child, on thee! 
I seal thee now with my parting kiss, 

Till at His right hand we meet. 
Death! death! thy bitterest drop is this, 

x4.ll else in thy cup is sweet!" 

The child clings close to his father's heart. 

But thej' bear him by force away — 
A gentle force; but they needs must part, 

And that old man guides his way. 

* Characterized by Cromwell as " the short man who would not bow. " 



86 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

Once more they are treading the crowded street, 

But no longer the sunlight smiled; 
And looks of pity from some they meet, 

For they know the martyr's child! 

" Yon darksome thing that shuts out the sky. 
tell me what may it be? 
It scares my heart, though I know not why. 

For it seems to gloom on me!" 
With a quivering lip, and a thrill of awe, 
Was the old man's answer given : 
" 'Tis a ladder, poor bairn, such as Jacob saw, 
By which angels mount to heaven!" 

— They have set his head on the Nether Bow, 

To scorch in the summer air; 
And months go by, and the winter's snow 

Falls white on its thin grey hair. 
And still the same look that in death he wore, 

Is sealed on the solemn brow — 
A look as of one who hath travailed sore. 

But where pangs are ended now! 

Through years of oppression, and blood, and shame. 

The earth as a wine-press trode— 
That silent witness abides the same. 

In its mute appeal to God ! 
And many a saint hath waxed strong to bear. 

While musing in that sad place; 
And the heart of the tyrant hath failed for fear. 

In the awe of the still, stern face. 

There were prophet-words on those lips in death. 
That Sctoland remembers still; 



THE MAUTVll S CHILD. 

And she looks for her God's awakening breath, 

Throno-h the long, long night of ill I 
' They may scatter their dust to the winds of heaven- 

To the bounds of the utmost sea; 
But her Covenants, burned, reviled, and riven, 

Shall yet her reviving be I'' 

— There sitteth a child by the ISTether Bow 

In the light of the summer sky: 
And he steals there yet in the winter's snow. 

But he shuns the passers by; 
A fair, pale child, with a faded cheek, 

As a lily in darkness reared. 
And an eye, in its sad abstraction meek. 

As if nothing he hoped or feared! 

In the early dawn, at the fall of eve. 

But not in the noon of day; 
And he doth not weep, and he doth not grieve, 

But he never was seen to play ! 
A child in whom childhood's life is dead; 

Its sweet light marred and dim ; 
And he gazes up at that awful head. 

As though it held speech with him! 

Oh! a strange, sad sight, was the converse mute 

Of the dead and the living there ; 
And thoughts in that young child's soul took root 

Which manhood might scarcely bear! 
But ever he meekly went his way. 

As the stars came o'er the place; 
And his mother wept, as she heard him say. 

''I have seen my father's face!'* 



88 rOETRY OF THE COVENAMT. 

Years faded and died, and the child was gone, 

But a pale youth came instead, 
In the solemn eve, and at early dawn. 

To gaze on the awful head!" 
And oft when the moonlight fell in showers, 

He would linger the night long there ; 
And his spirit went up through those silent hours 

To his father's God in prayer! 

The shadow had passed from his heart and brow. 

And a deep calm filled his breast; 
For the peace of God was his portion now, 

And his weary soul had rest! 
The martyr's God had looked kindly down 

On the martj^r's orphan son ; 
And the spirit had sealed him for His own, 

And his goal was almost won! 

There was fond hope cherished and earnest given, 

Of a course like his father's high ; 
But the seed that had ripened so soon for heaven, 

God gathered to the sky ! 
He comes no more to the 'customed place; 

In vain would affection save. 
He hath looked his last on his father's face. 

And he lies in his mother's grave! 



ja:\iks 1)()I)i>s. 81> 



JAMES DODDS. 

AUTHOR OP '^LAYS OF THE COVENANTEKS/' 

[The following narrative is condensed from the Memoir pre- 
pared b}^ the Rev. James Dodds, of Dunbar, Scotland, a cousin 
of the poet, and prefixed to the edition of •' Lays of the Cov- 
enanters'" published in Glasgow in 1880.] 

James Dodds, the author of the following poems and of 
other writings of undoubted merit, was born on the 6tli of 
February, 1813, at Softlaw', in the parish of Sprouston, 
near Kelso. Having lost his father when he was a mere 
child, his early training was left to his mother, a warm- 
hearted and excellent woman, who had soon reason to 
rejoice in the opening powers and promising character of 
her son. But the person who exercised most influence on 
his youth, and whom he always regarded with unbounded 
veneration, was his grandfather, under whose roof he and 
his mother lived during his earliest years. That venerable 
relative, after whom he was named, was indeed one of the 
finest conceivable specimens of a class of worthies in humble 
life for which Scotland was once famous. He was a man of 



00 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

singular piety and gravity of character, of great intelligence^ 
and gentleness of disposition. He had a love of reading, 
and a taste for wholesome religions literature, which great- 
ly added to his mental stores, and gave him a high author- 
ity among his neighbors. He was a member of the Seces- 
sion Church in its best, or at least most primitive days, and 
took a deep interest in all matters that concerned the spirit- 
ual improvement of the nation, and the spread of the Gos- 
pel in heathen lands. In spiritual intelligence and men- 
tal development he was far in advance of his neighbors. 
The youth, thus trained at the side of such a saintly 
character, soon displayed a measure of intelligence that 
excited the admiration of all his companions. Little is 
recorded of the first schools he attended, but it is certain 
that he displayed in his earliest years a wonderful aptitude 
for learning, and a precocity of talent quite extraordinary. 
He made verses, and recited sermons in the heaiing of his 
companions, when he was quite a child. His imagination, 
fired by old ballads and border tales, suddenly acquired 
great power, and lifted him into an ideal world. He would 
often gallop about from place to place on an imaginary 
steed, and then astonish the rustic minds of the people around 
him by thrilling narratives of battles with wild beasts and 
encounters with savage men. These marvellous creation^ 
of his child-brain were for the time as real to him as life it- 
self. At other times he would gather round him a mis- 
cellaneous audience to listen to his iiarangues or sermons on 
scriptural subjects, modelled, for the most part, after the 
discourses he heard from the pulpit. Yet what struck 
many of his more intelligent hearers was not the liveliness 
of his fancy, but the maturity of his understanding. The 
wonder of the sages of the hamlet Avas that one so young 



JAMES DODDS. 91 

could speak on subjects so important with the gravity and 
sobriety that belong to riper years. 

Before he was much above thirteen years of age he had 
read and mastered many of the works of Dr. Johnson, and, 
what is more remarkable still, had grappled with Bishop 
\Yarburton's " Divine Legation of Moses." And so 
thoroughly did he enter iuto the spirit of these great writers 
that he actually, in his youthful enthusiasm, admired their 
very faults. Their dogmatism and arrogance he would oft- 
en, more in earnest than in jest, praise and even imitate. 
The educated persons he became acquainted wath were often 
amused to hear the rustic but precocious youth talk in the 
pompous language of Johnson, argue sometimes in his play- 
ful, sometimes in his surly style, and lay down the law most 
dogmatically on some difficult question. Warburton's con- 
troversial arrogance seemed to be a high merit in his eyes, 
and he enthusiastically praised the argument of the Divine 
Legation, splendid paradox as it is now admitted to be. 
But ti.ese fits of admiration and imitation he afterwards 
regarded as the intellectual frolics of his youth, the ebulli- 
tions of a mind that wanted the firm guidance of some 
accomplished preceptor. Indeed, looking back to his early 
days, he often described himself as self-willed, passionate, 
and proud, apt to assert his independence in an extravagant 
way, to rebel against salutary restraint, and even to indulge 
in the language of sarcasm, which is so unbecoming in the 
mouth of the young. These strange characteristics of his 
youth, however, were accompanied with singular warmth 
and generosity of heart, which gained him friends and 
conciliated enemies. 

Like many a Scottish youth wdio has risen from poverty 
to a good, or even eminent position in the w^orld, James 



92 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

Dodcls betook himself to the teaching of a humble country 
school. He did not reach, or perhaps aim at, the position 
of a parochial schoolmaster, an important personage 
in those days. An assistantship in a superior school, or 
a tutorship in a gentleman's family, even had either of 
these posts been within his reach, would probably not have 
suited his very independent spirit. As matters stood, he 
accepted the situation of teacher of a small adventure- 
school at a farm-place, in the parish of Smailholm, six 
miles north-west from Kelso. 

That farm-place was Sandyknowe, celebrated in connec- 
tion with the early life of Sir Walter Scott. Nearly sixty 
years before, that child of genius had spent the opening 
dawn of his life, or, as he has himself informed us, ' ' awoke 
to the first consciousness of existence," at Sandyknowe, 
near which stands Smailholm's ruined tower, now^ immor- 
talised in his song. That farm belonged to Walter Scott's 
paternal grandfather, but it had in former times been the 
property of a distinguished Border family, the Pringles of 
Whytbank. Brought out of Edinburgh, a lame and some- 
what sickly child, for the benefit of the ptire country air, 
the future great minstrel of the Border had his young imagi- 
nation excited by the most romatic scenery in the Lowlands 
of Scotland. Lying at the foot, or perched on the summit 
of Smailholm Tower, when yet a mere child emerging out 
of helpless infancy, he could gaze on a landscape rich in 
natural beauty, and studded over with hills, and towers, 
and famous spots rendered classic by the deathless power 
of poetry. In his introduction to the third canto of Mar- 
mion the minstrel thus sings of Smailholm's ancient border 
keep : — 



JAMES DODDS. 93 

"Then rise those crags, that mountain tower, 
Which charmed my fancy's wakening hour. 
It was a barren scene and wild 
Where naked cliffs were rudely piled ; 
But ever and anon between 
Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green. 
And well the lonely infant knew 
Recesses where the wallflower grew. 
And honeysuckle ioved to crawl 
Up the low crag and ruined wall." 

Almost beneath the shadow^ of Smailbohn Tower, James 
Dodds opened his rustic school, and began a career of 
steady labour and manly industry from which he never 
afterwards deviated. For nearly four years did tbe youth- 
ful schoolmaster occupy tbis humble position ; and though 
fit for sometbing far higher, he cheerfully went through 
a round of toil that many lads like himself would have 
found most irksome. 

Having made up his mind tb at tbe profession of tbe law 
would best suit his talents and his aims in life, James Dodds 
left Sandyknowe in March, 1836, and bound himself ajv 
prentice for five years to Mr. Scott a writer or solicitor, resid- 
ing at Abbotsmeadow, in the immediate vicinity of Mel- 
rose. As an apprentice or clerk of a country legal practi- 
tioner he passed the next five years of his life, and went 
tbrough a vast amount of ill-remunerated toil whicb be 
never looked back upon with any satisfaction. He applied 
bimself, however, with remarkable industry to the endless 
copying of dry law papers, and the mastering of the prin- 
ciples and details of Scotch law. 

While Mr. Dodds was thus toiling at the oar in a coun- 
try wTiter's office, he forgot not the claims of literature, 
and was also drawn into the turmoil of provincial pol- 



04 POETS OB^ THE COVENANT. 

itics. He read the English classic authors, especially Shake- 
speare, with great avidity, and even made them the sub- 
jects of critical study. He actually prepared and deliver- 
ed lectures on a number of Shakespeare's plays and leading 
characters, illustrating them with appropriate recitations, 
which added greatly to their popular effect. His audiences 
often consisted chiefly of plain country people, who knew 
little of Shakespeare but what he told them in his own 
dramatic style. ' ' It was amazing, " says Mr. Brockie, " to 
see how he fascinated the douce old wivesof Gattonside by 
his Shakespearian recitations. Many who had never read 
a play in their lives, and who would not for the world have 
crossed the threshold of a theatre, went to hear Mr. Dodds 
recite and comment night after night, and always came 
away delighted, as well asinstiucted." It appears, indeed, 
that the ardent lecturer and reciter contemplated at this 
time the preparation of a series of studies on Shakespeare 
for publication in some magazine. His purpose, perhaps 
never seriously formed, soon passed from his mind ; and, 
meanwhile, literature with him gradually gave way to poli- 
tics. 

At this period the agitation excited by the great Eeform 
movement of 1831-32 was still strong in Scotland, a country 
which had just been awakened to a new political life. On 
the Scottish Border, and in such towns as Galashiels, Ha- 
wick, and Jedburgh, political feeling ran high, and Liberal- 
ism was in the ascendant. The young clerk, budding into a 
lawyer, and aiming at public life, joined with all his heart 
the Liberal party, and soon distinguished himself as a speak- 
er at political meetings. He was by education and conviction 
a Scottish Whig of a pronounced character ; but, like a 
true Whig of that class, he never adopted subversive prin- 



JAMES DODDS. 95 

ciples, and always advocated the cause of progress and re- 
form within the lines of the British Constitution. In what 
are now called the Border Burghs, which, since their en- 
franchisment, have been represented by a distinguished 
Liberal, the nephew and the biographer of Lord Macau- 
lay, Mr. Dodds won no small reputation as an eloquent 
champion of popular rights. On various exciting occa- 
sions he swayed the multitude by his bold denunciation of 
oppression and advocacy of liberty. He sympathised always 
deeply and sincerely with the working classes, and often 
described his chief mission in the world to be the defence 
of their rights. Accordingly, when he spoke in public he 
never failed to strike a responsive chord in the poor man's 
heart, and to cheer him with the hope of better days. His 
popularity in the burghs was as great as it was honestly 
acquired. It was never sought for from unworthy motives 
and it never served to alleviate the deep poverty in which 
his life at this time was passed. He was one of the most 
generous and disinterested of popular champions. From 
first to last he acted from the purest aims, and showed a 
noble superiority to the money power. 

In 1841, soon after the expiry of his apprenticeship at 
Abbotsmeadow, Mr. Dodds went to Edinburgh in order 
to push his way in his profession. IMr. Scott, on parting 
with him, bore testimony to " the faithful, honest, and be- 
coming manner in which he had performed his duties," 
and expressed an earnest hope " that his talents, qualifica- 
tions, and disinterested singleness of heart might conduce 
to his success in life." The young lawyer soon found em- 
ployment in the office of Mr. Maurice Lothian, a gentle- 
man well known in the legal circles of Edinburgh. He 
enjoyed the beiTefit of the recommendations of the Rev, 



9(5 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

Dr. Aitken and other Roxburghshire friends interested in 
his success, and possessing some influence with the Liberal 
party. Mr. Lothian, who still survives, remembers well 
the arrival in town of young Mr. Dodds from Melrose, 
and the good impression he made on every one by his 
character and ability. He also states that at the time 
" he was sure the genius of the lad would not long submit 
to the drudgery of a clerk." But Mr. Dodds, from his 
first commencement of work in Edinburgh, was determin- 
ed to shrink from no drudgery that might commend him 
to his employers, and serve to plant his foot firmly on the 
ladder of promotion. 

It may here be stated that before he went to Edinburgh 
Mr. Dodds was married to Miss Janet Pringle, with whom 
he had become acquainted at Abbotsmeadow, and who, 
though considerably younger than himself, turned out to be 
the very wife he needed to promote his comfort and happi- 
ness. His marriage was thought by some of his friends to 
be hasty and improvident, but it was, in the end, the source 
of the purest domestic happiness. Mrs. Dodds, during the 
whole period of her wedded life, entirely sympathised with 
her hvsband, attended wisely to his household affairs, and 
even assisted him in his literary undertakings. Her instinc- 
tive taste and judgment were greatly deferred to by her 
husband as he penned his poems and prepared his lectures. 
When she condemned, he was more than doubtful of the 
merit of his compositions ; when she approved, he was 
satisfied that he had produced something that would stand 
the test. As a wife, a friend, and the mother of his children, 
she was nearly all to him that a woman can be to a man; 
and she has survived him to cherish his memory, and to 
take an intelligent interest in the preparation of this faith- 



.lAMES DODDS. 07 

fill, though imperfect, record of his life and labours. [So 
the author modestly terms his admirable biography.] 

About the year ] 844, Mr. Dodds began to study in a 
special manner the history of the Scottish Covenautei's. 
In his boyhood he had admired the martyrs of the Cove- 
nant, and thfir noble struggles for religious liberty. But 
it was only now that he deeply studied the literature of 
the period in which they lived, and made himself familiar 
with the records of their lives and sufferings. The result 
was, that the characters of these spiritual heroes fired his 
imagination, and woke to new life within him the spirit 
of poetry which had often possessed him from his youth. 
From that period much of his reading consisted of works 
bearing on the ecclesiastical history of Scotland, from the 
era of the Reformation to the great persecution of the 
Presbyterians, which began with the restoration of Charles 
II. in 1660, and only terminated at the revolution of 1688. 
As he strove to realize the features of the Covenanting 
times, and especially the heroic spirit of the Covenanters, his 
thoughts and feelings flowed almost imperceptibly into the 
mould of poetry ; and hence the origin of these beautiful 
and stirring Lays given in this volume. 

From 1845 to 1847, a succession of " Lays of the Cove- 
nanters," all of the same stamp, and possessing the highest 
merit, were contributed by Mr. Dodds to the Free Church 
Magazine, and also to Lowe's Edmhurgh Magazine, a per- 
iodical which existed at that period, though soon after it 
was discontinued. These effusions attracted much atten- 
tion as they appeared, though the name of the author was 
not generally known. The best judges have declared that 
they will stand a comparison with Aytoun's once popular 
" Lays of the Cavaliers." Indeed, I have always thought 
7 



98 rOETS OF THE COVENANT. 

that in poiut of polish, fire, and sincerity, they are far 
superior to these belauded productions of the Edinburgh 
professor. The public will now have the opportunity, for 
the first time, of calmly forming a judgment of their merits 
as a series of poems illustrating a most characteristic period 
of Scottish history. That they breathe a fine spirit of 
poetry, piety, and patriotism, and also give in a lively man- 
ner the very '' form and pressure" of the Covenanting 
times, will be admitted even by many judges who are not 
in entire sympathy with their author. Nor is that Scotcli- 
num or Presbyterian to be envied who can read them 
without any admiration of the bloody but finally victori- 
ous struggles of the enthusiastic and dauntless children of 
the Covenant. 

These " Lays of the Covenanters" were not written rap- 
idly, or with that bold negligence which sometimes marks 
poetic inspiration. Their author studied carefully his 
themes before he attempted to embalm them in verse. 
He laboriously collected all the information about them 
which lay within his reach, that he might realize them 
more vividly in his owai mind, and present them with 
corresponding liveliness to others. He also corrected what 
he had written with incessant: care ; and however accurate 
his manuscript was when sent to the printer, the proof Avas 
sure to be returned with many important alterations. 
These alterations were invariably for the better, and gen- 
erally in the way of condensation. But Mr. Dodds, 
whether he expressed his thoughts in prose or in verse, Avas 
a very careful and conscientious writer. He had no am- 
bition to compose with rapidity, and never boasted of tlu; 
ease with which he could write a poem or an essay. Some 
of his ordinary letters were even written with uncommon 



JAMES DODDS. 99 

pains ; and the popular lectures which he prepared and 
delivered during the latter part of his life, were the fruits 
of much careful and industrious research. Though irres- 
olution and procrastination often marked his conduct 
through life, no man ever brought a greater amount of 
dogged perseverance to a task he had once deliberately 
undertaken. A lecture which he could easily have Y)re- 
pared sufficiently well in a few days, often cost him weeks 
of hard reading and sustained intellectual as well as man- 
ual toil. 

Towards the close of 1846, Mr. Dodds removed from 
Edinburgh to London, in order to commence business as a 
Scottish Parliamentary agent. He had by this time acquir- 
ed great knowledge and valuable experience in the office of 
Messrs. Lockhart, Hunter, & Whitehead. He had mastered 
all the ordinary details of Scottish legal practice, and was 
no stranger to the general principles of law. His acuteness, 
his penetration, and his knowledge of human nature also 
helped to cpialify him for that branch of the legal profession 
which he now adopted. Both Mr. Hunter and Mr. White- 
head acted by him in the most generous manner on this 
occasion. Without their assistance and patronage he could 
not safely have undertaken the risk of establishing himself 
in London. IJeing also a married man, he required 
all the help and encouragement in his new line of life 
which kind friends could offer, or himself could properly 
receive. 

It has been already stated that Mr. Dodds, when writ- 
ing and publishing in periodicals his poems on Covenant- 
ing themes, made a special study of tlie history of the 
Scottish Covenants and their heroic adherents. By means 
of o^enuine historical research, he strove hard to realise the 



100 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

scenes and times to Avliich his poetical outpourings refer- 
red. Even after he had ceased to write Lays of the Cove- 
nanters, he continued, at his leisure, to prosecute that line 
of study which always had for him a strong fascination. 
He read critically all books of Scottish Church History 
that fell into his hands, and made a special effort to get 
access to works of original or standard authority. Still 
further to enliven his conceptions of the Covenanters and 
their struggles, he visited, during his autumnal journeys 
in Scotland, many scenes made famous by the battles and 
martyrdoms of the religious patriots whom he so sincerely 
admired. 

Certain regions in the Lowlands of Scotland were special- 
ly attractive to him, as being the native homes or chosen 
haunts of the men of the Covenant. These are Lanark- 
shire and Ayrshire, with Dumfresshire, Wigton and Kirk- 
cudbright that go by the name of Galloway. It so hap- 
pened that calls of business frequently took him, between 
the years 1850 and 1860, down to Galloway, a region pe- 
culiarly rich in Covenanting memories. In Galloway he 
always enjoyed himself exceedingly, delighted with its fine 
mountain scenery, and solemnised by its lonely martyrs' 
graves. 

While he thus nourished his intellect and imagination 
with the exciting materials supplied by his visits to Gallo- 
way, Mr. Dodds prosecuted with renewed relish his histori- 
cal studies. The result was the preparation of a series of 
biographical papers, which he first delivered as popular 
lectures, and finally expanded into a volume. No compo- 
sitions of the kind were ever written with greater fulness 
of heart, or with greater pains and industry. ^Ir. Dodds, 
while admiring the Covenanters, and their struggles for 



JAMES DODDS. 101 

liberty, was very careful to ascertain the truth concern- 
ing their principles and practices, the character of their 
leaders, and the proper bearing of the events that make 
up their history. He was no blind enthusiast in this mat- 
ter, but a keen and thoughtful historical student, bent 
on doing j ustice alike to the persecuted and their persecu- 
tors. What he has written of the Covenanters has, there- 
fore, a high value in the eyes of all impartial readers. He 
has never sunk the philosopher and the statesman in the 
Scotchman and Presbyterian in treating of men and strug- 
gles that peculiarly appeal to the prepossessions of most 
students of Scottish history. 

In November, 1857, was inaugurated in the new ceme- 
tery at Stirling a statue to the memory of the martyr, James 
Guthrie. This noble monument to one of the greatest of 
Scotland's spiritual heroes was erected mainly through the 
liberality of the late Mr. William Drummond, an excellent 
man, who did honour to Stirling and his native land. Mr. 
Dodds was requested to deliver an inaugural address on 
the interesting occasion, and cheerfully undertook the hon- 
ourable task. Standing beside the unveiled monument, 
and in presence of the magistrates and a great multitude 
of the citizens of Stirling, he dilated in magnificent style 
on Guthrie and his times, the principles of the British con- 
stitution, and the great liberties we now enjoy. Part of 
his estimate of Guthrie's character is as follows : " By what- 
ever test we try him, we shall not hesitate to pronounce 
him the first man of his day, the first in talent, in weight 
of intellect, in fertility and decision of mind, in prompti- 
tude and force of action, in all that kind of intellectual 
aptitude and energy which rouses and sustains the people 
in their contests with despotism, and commands ultimate 



102 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

success, though it may not be attained in the lifetime of 
the leader himself. . . .To his solid and brilliant 
qualities he added a character as spotless and lofty as hu- 
manity can attain to, or earth behold. No stain ever fell 
upon it, no breath of calumny ever assailed it. Hard things 
have been said of Knox and Melville, and some of them, I 
for one admit, deservedly. Against Henderson little has 
been alleged ; for he was grave, prudent, temperate, and 
subdued, and laid himself little open to the attacks of scan- 
dal ; yet against him also insinuations have been levelled. 
But against Guthrie the mouths of all the dogs of his time 
were silent. The chroniclers of scandal were dumb ; and 
his bitterest enemies always spoke respectfully of his char- 
acter." 

The address concludes with this splendid peroration, 
which is quite Demosthenic in style and spirit; "Beside 
this monument, as an altar of freedom, let us plight our 
faith and SAvear our covenant to be the enemies of all that 
is false and slavish, the friends and promoters of all that 
is true, good, and free. Yes ! immortal spirit of the long- 
departed martyr ! I know not what are the laws of the 
spirit-land ; I know not in what part of the universe is the 
stately and beatific palace where thou dwellest ; I know 
not what are thy employments, or where is the circuit of 
thy flight. But I am persuaded, not from any certain facts, 
but from the promptings of feeling, and imagination, and 
sympathy, that thou still hast an interest in sublunary con- 
cerns ; that thou art not all lost in heavenly ecstacies, but 
still watchest that struggle for freedom in which thou didst 
fall a martyr. If then, immortal spirit ! thou art now 
hovering over us in this the scene of thy labours and griefs, 
thy loves and joys when in the flesh, bear witness! that. 



JAMES DODDS. 103 

standing around this monumental stone, ^ve devote ourselves 
to the maintenance of those principles for Avhich thou didst 
die so nobly, and resolve rather ourselves to perish than 
survive the liberties of our country and our race." 

One of the results of the visits Mr. Dodds paid to friends 
in Galloway was his delivery at Wigtown of his lectures 
on the Covenanters. The lectures had the effect of giving 
new life to a movement originated in the place some years 
before for the erection of a" monument to the " Wigtown 
^lartyrs." These martyrs have been peculiarly celebrated 
in the history of Scotland, and their very names are dear 
to all true Scottish Presbyterians. Margaret Lauchliscn, 
a widow of sixty-three, and Margaret Wilson, a maiden of 
eighteen, in terms of a sentence of one of the Courts of tl e 
persecuting Government of the time, were drowned on tl e 
11th of May, 1685, near Wigtown, at a place where tie 
waters of the small river Blednoch mingle with the .'•alt 
tide of the Solway. Both of the women met their doom 
with a quiet but exalted heroism. The younger of them, 
who was last put to death, especially showed a beautiful 
and pathetic Christian fortitude that has touched the hearts 
and bedewed the eyes of thousands since her day. All the 
leading historians who have given any account of these 
melancholy persecuting times in Scotland have failed not 
to record with gentle hand the tragedy of the tender but 
heroic Wigtown martyrs. It has been reserved for a Scot- 
tish lawyer of the present day, Mr. Mark Napier, the bio- 
grapher of Graham of Claverhouse, known as Viscount 
Dundee, to deny the reality of the execution of the two 
women at Wigtow^n, and to heap upon their heads the 
coarsest ribaldry. But his attempt to gainsay the truth of 
history has signally failed, and the reality of the martyr- 



104 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

dom lias lately been proved afresh by a superabundance of 
authentic and consistent evidence. 

On the 17th August, 1858, Mr. Dodds delivered an in- 
augural address at Wigtown on the occasion of the laying 
of the foundation stone of a monument erected to the mem- 
ory of the martyrs. An immense assemblage of people 
was gathered together from all parts of the surrounding 
country to witness the impressive ceremony, and to hear 
a vindication of the Covenanters. Mr. Dodd's speech was 
one of his greatest efforts. With a full heart he did justice 
to the two Galloway women who died for the truth, and 
then he splendidly expatiated on his favourite themes, the 
heroism of the Covenanters and their services to British 
liberty. Alluding to the attempts made by her executioners 
to shake the constancy of Margaret Wilson, and her simple, 
sublime bearing in the midst of her last trial, the orator 
said : ' ' Dragged half-dead from the waters, she was urged 
again ' to pray for the king,' which then meant, as was 
well understood, to approve of, to bid God-speed to, the 
whole tyranny and iniquity and Antichristianism of the 
ruling powers. She had already been overwhelmed in the 
horrors of death ; the black devouring floods were hissing 
at her feet, as if greedy for their prey ; life, and the sweets 
of life, inviting her one way ; death, in one of his most 
wild and horrific forms, yawning to swallow her up the 
other way. Will not her heart fail ? Will not the strain 
upon her nerves be too great for her to bear? Her mind 
must be bewildered. Surely for life, for sweet young life, 
she will grasp at any straw that is offered. Not so the 
holy, heavenly maiden. Amid the roar of the waves, the 
groans and lamentations of the people, the mingled flatteries 
and threats of the persecutors, and amid the awfulness of 



JAMES DOr)l)S. 105 

the pains of death, half-endured, her intellect was calm and 
unclouded, her judgment firm and unshaken, her thoughts 
as clear, and her language as precise and careful as if she 
had been a professor in the chair of theology, and not a 
poor maiden of eighteen in the midst of her martyr agonies." 
In 1861 Mr. Dodds published " The Fifty Years' Strug- 
gle of the Scottish Covenanters, 1638-1688." This work 
consisted of his lectures on the Covenanters, in an expand- 
ed and corrected form. The lectures, he confessed to his 
friends, had cost him a world of trouble ; he had ransack- 
ed for them a whole department of the State Paper Office, 
had consulted in his investigations some fifty or sixty vol- 
umes, and had often toiled at the task of composition till 
one or even two o'clock in the morning. When the vol- 
ume was being prepared for the press a similar variety of 
labour was gone through, so bent was he on giving fresh- 
ness and accuracy to his narrative. The w^ork, published 
first by an Edinburgh firm, was very favourably received, 
and more than justified the author's fame'as a lecturer. It 
was afterwards transferred to a London publisher ; and 
from first to last it has run through several editions. It is 
generally admitted to be one of the best books on the sub- 
ject published in modern times, or indeed at any former 
period. The life-like accuracy of its sketches of the lead- 
ing Covenanters and their persecuting opponents has struck 
every impartial reader. Indeed, the Avork is more a 
series of biographies, with picturesque description of events 
and the scenes in which they occured, than a regular and 
connected history. The insight of the author into the men 
and the times he undertakes to describe shows a true his- 
toric genius ; while the glow of his narrative, and the 
striking imagery that is ever at his command, bespeak the 



lOB POETS O*^ THE COVENANT. 

spirit of an orator and poet. He never disguises his deep 
sympathy ^vith the Covenanters, and always speaks of them 
as profoundly sincere, even Avhen mistaken, as men of like 
passions and infirmities with ourselves, yet genuine religious 
patriots and valiant pioneers of modern British liberty. 
But while he takes the Scottish Presbyterian view of their 
characters and struggles, he writes of them like a philoso- 
pher and statesman of the present day. His is not a 
blind devotion to the noble old Covenanting cause. He 
aims rather at an intelligent appreciation of the men who 
upheld that cause, and, according to their light, defended it 
at the risk, or at the cost of life itself. 

It was at one time Mr. Dodd's intention to prosecute 
still further his researches in Scottish ecclesiastical lii-tc ly, 
especially that portion of it -which, relates to the life ar.d 
progress of the Refoimation. He actually, with a vitw 
probably to the issue of another volume, prepared two 
elaborate lectures on "The Crisis of the Scottish Reform- 
ation, 1557-1560." These he delivered at Moffat, in I8H0, 
with great applause. " The audience/' says a local report- 
er, " was spell bound as he detailed with the vividness of 
jnctures the chief events of that glorious epoch. He describ- 
ed Mary of Lorraine, Mary Queen of Scotts, the Duke of 
Chatelleraut, Maitland of Lethington, and other Lords of 
the Congregation, in words which made them almost seem 
to take life and bodily presence. Of Knox himself, the 
chief figure of his fahlemix, every one could catch the very 
impress, and realise the very presence, from two scenes he de- 
scribed most effectively, the one in which the words, ' John 
Knox is come' are utter in the Church of the Greyfriars, 
and the other presenting the preaching of the Reformer at 
Stirling. He clearly explained the state of Europe, and 



JAMES 1)01)1)8. 107 

specially of KScotlaiid, the elioits made by Knox, with tLe 
difficulties his schemes encountered ; and often he made 
the heart thrill and throb as he unveiled the course of Provi- 
dence in our history. He exhibited a remarkable power 
of impressing his hearers with a weird feeling of reality. 
It was not merely the dim shadowy ghost of the Past that he 
called up, but its very self As by some inexplicable mag- 
netic influence, he carried one away whithersoever he would, 
without any apparent effort, more irresistibly than any 
other eminent lecturer of the day." This is high praise, 
but not unmerited. In his best moods, when lecturing on 
a subject that appealed to the higher feelings, Mr. Dodds 
exhibited all that living action and transporting power 
which give the true orator an irresistible sway over his 
audience. He was never so much at home, never felt and 
spoke so like a man inspired, as when he introduced upon 
the scene the noble and picturesque though somewhat stern 
worthies of Scottish Church history. 

Even in introducing the Covenanters to a London 
audience he stirred up that enthusiasm which springs 
from sympathy with heroic struggles for liberty. At the 
beginning. of 1865, he was requested by the Rev. Newman 
Hall to deliver a lecture on the Covenanting times in Scot- 
land, and to read, by way of illustration, a selection of his 
Lays, at a IMonday evening meeting of the congregation. 
The entertainment was a splendid triumph. An audience 
of 3000 people listened in breathless attention both to the 
prose and the poetry of the lecturer, except when they could 
not restrain their sympathetic emotion. On various other 
occasions Mr. Dodds gave in London a similar lectnre, with 
suitable poetical illustrations, and always with decided suc- 
cess. Had considerations of emolument chieflv swayed him 



108 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

he might have tiirnsd his popuhir lectures of this kind to 
profitable account. But, though never a rich man, and for a 
large period of his life having a numerous family dependent 
upon him, he was no adept in attending to his own pecuniary 
interests, but let slip many excellent opportunities of hon- 
ourably adding to his income. Yet the success of the popu- 
lar reading of his Covenanting Lays increased his desire to 
publish them in a small volume, with appropriate notes 
and illustrations. He actually made considerable progress 
in mituring such a literary project; but from that inex- 
plicable irresoluteness which in matters of this kind often 
cam 3 over him, he never took the final step, and let his 
enterprise of pith and moment suddenly drop. 

Mr. Dodds's second and last publication of importance 
appeared in I8YO. This was called '' Thomas Chalmers : 
a Biographical Study." He had projected a series of similar 
''Studies," to consist mainly of appreciative sketches of 
eminent men of this century. He had certainly many 
qualities fitting him for such a task, such as subtle analytic 
skill, a fine power of word-painting, and a keen sympathy 
with everything morally grand and noble. He had also 
an exquisite eye for the Avinning weaknesses of great men, 
and the beautiful simplicity of genius. He could touch 
with genial hand the odd, the fantastic, and the humorous, 
as well as the solemn and the pathetic in human life and 
character. But this new project was not destined to call 
into play his peculiar powers. He was forced, indeed, by 
failing health and spirits, as Avell as by the pressure of out- 
ward circumstauces, to give up more than one of his cher- 
ished literary schemes. Chalmers was the first and the last 
picture in his projected gallery of modern great men. 
And a very complete and carefully-finished picture it is. 



JAMES DODDS. 109 

The artist had a life-long love and reverence for Chalmers, 
had heard him make one of his greatest speeches, and had 
watched his splendid philanthropic career from its meridian 
to its sudden close. It was with peculiar delight, therefore, 
that he found at last an opportunity of letting the world 
know Avhat he thought of the greatest pul})it orator, and 
one of the noblest men of his time. In a small octavo vol- 
ume, of 400 pages, he contrived to sketch in brief and bold 
outline the life of Chalmers, to describe the various fascina- 
tions of his genius, and to expatiate on the amount of noble 
Avork he did in his day. He acknowledges his great obliga- 
tion to Dr. Hanna's admirable Life of the great Christian 
philanthropist ; but he introduces into the earlier part of his 
biography a quantity of interesting new material, for which 
he was mainly indebted to his friend Dr. Rogers, a native 
of Fife, and well acquainted with the land of Chalmers. 

During the last ten years of his life, in spite of his ab- 
stemious habits and annual periods of recreation in the 
country, Mr. Dodd's health sensibly declined. Indeed, 
before he had been many years hard at work in London, 
he occasionally felt himself affected with dizziness, and 
other symptoms of a diseased or irregular action of the 
heart. At times he was alarmed about himself, as if his 
life might be suddenly cut short ; but for years his nat- 
urally robust constitution bore him safely through sundry 
rather serious attacks, and enabled him to do a vast 
amount of work with apparent impunity. As life advanced, 
however, and the demands upon his energies did not di- 
minish, his bodily strength became visibly impaired, and 
his family grew^ anxious about the general state of his 
health. The toils of his profepsion, often of an anxious 
kind, severe literary work, which frequently kept him up 



110 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

to a late hour of the night or an early hour of the morning, 
as well as the exposure, excitement, and fatigue connected 
with public lecturing, gradually weakened his bodily pow- 
ers, and aggravated the ominous symptoms from which he 
had beirun to suffer. He became, it mav be said, another 
victim of that prevalent and fatal disease of the day, over- 
work. He wrought his brain too vigorously, and had too 
few intervals of rest. The usual consequences followed, 
heart disease, with its serious concomitants, and the pain- 
ful apprehensions to which it gives rise. 

In the summer of 1874, when, in spite of all the loving 
care of his family, his health became very weak and pre- 
carious, he received a kind invitation from Mr. T. Thorn- 
ton, solicitor, Dundee, to pay him a lengthened visit, in 
order to try the effect of perfect rest and change of air. 
Mr. Thornton and he had long been closely connected by 
ties of business and friendship, and the invitation, so 
thoughtfully given, was at once accepted. 

After spending a very happy day with all the members 
of their family that could be collected together, Mr. and 
Mrs. Dodds left London for Scotland on the 24th of Au- 
gust, and arrived comfortably at Carlisle, where they spent 
the night. Next day they went on to Dundee, where they 
were most kindly received by Mr. Thornton. Mr. Dodds 
was soon able to confer with that gentleman and other 
friends on matters of business, and seemed to improve 
daily in strength. After spending a few pleasant days in 
Dundee, he and Mrs. Dodds went up the country to Glen- 
isla, to pay a visit to JMr. Thornton's brother-in-law, Mr. 
Peter Hean. Mr. Hean, who had considerately invited 
tliem to share with him for a while the delights of his 
residence in the Forfarshire Highlands, was a most atten- 



JAMES DODDS. Ill 

tive host, and did everything possible to make the invalid's 
sojourn at Glenisla of a refreshing character. Mr. Thorn- 
ton and his son joined the party, and helped to make the 
visit still more enjoyable. Reading, writing, talking by 
turns, and in a moderate measure, strolling out into the 
open air to explore and enjoy the romantic scenery of the 
place, inhaling with conscious enjoyment the pure mountain 
air, and abandoning himself in his own fashion to the prized 
society of dear friends, and the elevating spirit of the sur- 
rounding scene, Mr. Dodds made rapid progress in what all 
around him considered the path of recovery. He made 
several excursions with his friends to interesting places in 
the neighbourhood, one of which was Forter Castle, a 
ruined strono-hold of the ancient clan of the Oi>ilvies. On 
the party being entertained at tea by the housekeeper of 
the tenant of the place, he was introduced by the Key. J. 
Simpson, of Glenisla, to that worthy woman as the author 
of the " Fifty Years' Struggle of the Scottish Covenanters ;" 
and great was her delight on the occasion. She eagerly 
declared that she had read the book over many times. 

In perfect peace and rest did Mr. Dodds pass a precious 
fortnight in this delightful corner of the Grampians. His 
mind was in a quiet and contemplative mood, ready to enter- 
tain the exalted thoughts inspired by the natural grandeur 
around him, and to ascend to the higher region of spiritual 
ideas and aspirations. The place, the air, the friends near 
him, the simple pleasures, and the tranquil employments of 
the hour were all to his taste, and seemed expressly fitted to 
prepare him for that passage into the unseen w^orld which 
to him was so nigh at hand. What secret communion he 
enjoyed meanwhile with his God and Saviour cannot be 
stated here Ayith any certanity. But he habitually retted 



112 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

Oil the great doctrines, and cherished the sublime hopes of 
the Christian religion. He had long before this won foi- 
himself, won by hard intellectual toil and many a spiritual 
struggle, an assured conviction that Jesus Christ is the Di- 
vine Son of God and the only Saviour of sinners. 

Keturning refreshed and invigorated to Dundee, he was 
able to visit a number of friends, to attend to some matters 
of business, and even to touch up several of the lectures that 
still occupied a portion of his leisure. In conferring with 
Mr. Thornton on some important professional matters which 
gave that gentleman not a little anxiety at the time, he 
showed a clearness of judgment and a vigour of intellect 
never surpassed in his best days. He was also led to think 
that his ailment had taken a favourable turn which might 
end in his restoration to a fair measure of health. On the 
evening of Friday, the 11th of September, he applied his 
wife's hand to the region of his heart, and said, ** Do you 
feel how much stronger it beats ? I think if I am spared 
to get over this, I will make an old man yet." On the 
afternoon of the next day, Mrs. Dodds left for Edinburgh, 
on the understanding that her husband, now so much re- 
cruited, would join her early in the following week. 

Almost immediately after his wife's departure, he walk- 
ed out of town in the direction of Lochee, for the purpose 
of calling on the Rev. Archibald B. Connell, the United 
Presbyterian minister of that place, whose acquaintance he 
wished to make, and to whom he had received a letter of 
introduction. But when, after his solitary walk, he had 
almost reached the door of Mr. Connell's house, he was seen 
suddenly to fall down, and was immediately taken up in a 
state of unconsciousness. He expired before he could be 
carried into the house he had expected to enter. Mr. 



JAMES DODDS. 113 

Conuell and he had been quite unknown to each other, 
and had never consciously met in this world. Even after 
the unknown stranger had lain dead for hours in Mr. Con- 
nell's house, that gentleman did not know his name. A 
more pathetic, a more tragic visit was never paid by one 
poor mortal to another in this world. " Man goeth to his 
long home, and the mourners go about the streets." 

Dr. Lennox and Dr. Pirie, of Dundee, having pronounc- 
ed the cause of death to be apoplexy resulting from heart 
disease, the body was conveyed to the house of Mr. Thorn- 
ton, where it lay till it was committed to the grave. Mrs. 
Dodds received the terrible news in Edinburgh by tele- 
graph, when in a lonely lodging ; her daughter, Mrs. Des- 
champs, and her husband, both of whom she had expected 
to meet, having not arrived from London. She left early 
next morning for Dundee, which she reached in the fore- 
noon when the church bells Avere ringing. All the mem- 
bers of her family at that time in this country soon followed, 
to share, and, if possible, to lighten her overwhelming sor- 
row. The widow and her children found the features of 
the departed not darkened and disfigured, but only subdued 
and chastened by the hand of death. -His eldest daughter, 
jMrs. Bontor, thus describes what met the eye in the cham- 
ber where the body was laid : "The grand repose of my 
father's face in death we shall never forget. The seal 
of everlasting life seemed set on his brow. His face was 
so noble and beautiful that our quietest, happiest hours 
during that awful time were spent in the room where he 
lay. He was to the end, and even in death, as he had al- 
ways been in life, the head and stay of his wife and chil- 
dren." 

The funeral took place on Wednesday, the 16th Septem- 



114 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

ber, and was attended by a number of the most distinguish- 
ed citizens of Dundee, many of whom had long been con- 
nected with the desceased by the ties of friendship. 

The interment took place in the Eastern Necropolis, a 
cemetery which Mr. Dodds had often admired when in life. 
It was noticed that the funeral procession passed close to 
the "Morgan Hospital," that noble institution which, but 
for the singular energy and skill of the deceased, might 
never have enriched the charities of Dundee. 

A suitable monument was in due time erected over the 
grave by Mr. Dodds' family. With the name of the depart- 
ed and the dates of his birth and death, there are inscribed 
upon it his favnrite word, Patientia, and the following 
brief, but expressive sentences: — " One who loved his fellow- 
man." " The righteous perisheth, and no man layeth it to 
heart ; aud merciful men are taken away, none considering 
that the righteous are taken away from the evil to come." 
" He shall enter into peace.' ' 

Little more need be said about the life and character of 
the subject of this Memoir. The narrative now given will 
be considered sufficient to show what kind of man Mr. 
Dodds w^as, what he actually did, and what in more favour- 
able circumstances he might have done. That his individu- 
ality was very pronounced, and that he possessed not only 
high mental powers but many of the qualities of genius, 
will probably be admitted by all who peruse these pages; 
while those who intimately knew him will certainly acknow- 
ledge the literal truth of all that has here been said of his 
extraordinary faculties. It is true that the high aspirations 
of his youth were never realised, that he never was per- 
mitted to enter that forensic arena where most probably he 
would have won the greatest tnumphs; but he displayed 



JAMES DODDS. 115 

iu one important department of the legal profession all the 
powers that go to form a tirst-rate lawyer. His legal acu- 
men and professional knowledge were of a very high order; 
and in all his dealings with his clients he uniformly acted 
like a man of incorruptible integrity. He was one who 
consulted less his own interests than the interests of others, 
and was infinitely more ready to wrong himself than any 
body else. He was also capable of prodigious industry and 
application when important matters of business demanded 
his attention ; and the signal professional triumphs he gain- 
ed were due as much to his moral energy as to his legal 
erudition. 

Many of his friends always regretted that his s'plendid 
powers never found a worthy field for their exercise. When 
he spoke at a public dinner, on a political platform, or in 
a popular assembly, he carried all before him by his com- 
manding eloquence. His oratory was certainly coloured 
with the hues of poetry, and was often instinct with senti- 
ment and passion ; but it usually contained a sound body 
of argument, and was uniformly directed to the noblest ends. 
He was a philosphic thinker, as well as a poet and orator ; 
and although a man of advanced views on many important 
subjects, he generally stated them with wisdom and raodera- 
ation. Those who knew him best believed that he was fitted 
to make a great figure in the House of Commons had he 
found the requisite opportunity ; but, perhaps fortunately 
for himself, he was finally content to remain in a compara- 
tively humble walk of life, remote from the struggles and 
disappointments of political ambition. He found special 
delight in literary work ; but while he wrote powerful and 
spirited prose, he poured out his soul most fully in his poetry. 
Most of his poems indicate the hand of a true master of the 



116 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

lyre ; but his " Lays of the Covenanters," which form the 
most precious portion of his volume, betray the true fire of 
genius. These burning tributes to the immortal religious 
heroes of Scotland were greatly admired by many competent 
judges when they first appeared more than thirty years ago. 
They are now presented to the public in the hope that their 
merits will be generously recognised by many readers who 
have hitherto been ignorant of their existence. 



BATTLE-SONG OF THE PENTLANDS. 11 



BATTLE-SONG OF THE PENTLAM)S. 

This day must set in blood ! 

Each true man to his post! 
Strike for Christ's Crown and Covenant, 

And God be Math His host! 

Though few and faint we be, 

And the tempests wildly blow. 
Yet here, upon this naked heath, 

We fearless dare the foe. 
Long hath the tyrant raged, 

And the people have been dumb : 
Sword of the Lord! avenge the past. 

And free the time to come! 

Not for the fading leaf 

That decks the conqueror's head, 
a^or sinful thirst for blood or gold, 
• Our feet have hither led; 
We combat for our rights, 

For our heritage Divine. 



118 POETRY OF THE COVENANT?. 

Lord! look down from heaven in love, 
A visit this Th}^ vine. 

Our homes in blackness lie. 

And our pleasant fields are waste. 
And our fathers and our brethren 

Like beasts of prey are chased. 
Our priests are driven forth, 

And our temples are defiled; 
And the house of God must now be sought 

Far in the desert wild. 

And now that, front to front, 

We have met the tyrant's horde, 
Woe be to him that slacks his arm 

Or turns awaj^ his sword I 
Better to fall in fight 

For the charter of our land. 
Than pine in bondage and in fear, 

A croachino-. hunted band. 

And if we fall, this hill 

Tiike Lebanon shall grow. 
And other times in gladness reap 

What we in trouble sow. 
And where our ashes rest. 

Beneath the heather sod. 
The youth of Scotland shall renew 

Their Covenant with God. 

This day must set in blood I 
Each true man to his post! 



feAtTLE-SONG OF THiE PEl^TLAKt>S. 119 

Strike for Christ's Crown and Covenant, 
And God be with His host! 

Dirge Over The Slain. 

Who were interred in BuUion Green the day after the Battle. 

Allelujah! praise the Lord! 
Be his holy name adored ! 
They who suffer for His Word 
Shall walk with Him in glory. 

"Earth to earth, and dust to dust!" 
Earth! to thee we now intrust 
The slaughtered bodies of the just, 

A sacred treasure given ! 
Here, upon the mountain side, 
They boldly stemmed the tyrant's pride, 
Heroes fought and martyrs died 

For fatherland and heaven! 

Where they fell shall be their grave, 
Meetest burial for the brave ; 
Though the wintry tempests rave. 

Calm shall be their slumber ! 
Souls redeemed from guilt and pain. 
Ye who suffered also reign. 
Joined to that immortal train 

Which no tongue can number! 

Nor myrrh nor aloes have we here. 
Mourning pomp, nor costly bier; 
Rude must be their sepulchre 

Rude the stone placed o'er them. 



120 POETRY OF tup: COVENANT. 

But safe each mangled corse shall lie : 
The brightest watchers of the sky 
Shall watch them, with unfailing eye, 
Until their Lord restore them. 

By the Nith and by the Ken, 

By Clyde and Ayr, through hill and glen, 

Where dwelt these gallant Westland men. 

May mourning hearts find gladness 
Holy spirit! Comfort-giver I 
Shall the sword destroy for ever? 
Wilt Thou not this land deliver 

From miserv and madness"? 

Brothers I on Carnethy's head 

Sinks the sunset, dusky red : 

O'er the turf which wraps the dead, 

A parting tear we offer. 
Leave the martyrs to their rest, 
Within the mountain's frozen breast I 
An hour still comes for all oppress'd, 

A crown for all who suffer. 

Allelujah! praise the Lord I 
Be His hol}^ name adored I 
They who suffer for His Word 
Shall walk with Him in glory! 



THE DEATH OF JAMES GUTHKIE. 121 



THE DEATH OF JAMES OUTHIE. 

[This distinguished martyr was the son of the Laird of 
Guthrie, the representative of an ancient Forfarshire family. 
Educated for the ministry, James Guthrie, as soon as he 
was ordained, took a very high place among his brethren 
as a preacher of the Gospel, and a zealous defender of the 
Church of Scotland. He was a man of high talents, and 
spotless character, no less eminent for his candour and pru- 
dence than for his burning zeal in the service of his Divine 
Master. He was appointed minister of Lauder in 1638, 
and was translated to Stirling in 1649. He took a leading- 
part in the councils of the Covenanters. Soon after the 
Restoration of CharlesH., in 1660, he was marked out for 
vengeance by the Court party. He was accordingly tried 
and condemned for high treason at Edinburgh. He re- 
ceived his sentence with perfect equanimity, and was exe- 
cuted on the Isl June, 1661. His death, like that of 
Argyle. had all the features of a judicial murder. As he 
was among the first, so certainly he was one of the noblest 
of the Scottish Covenanting martyrs.] 



122 POETRY Olf THE COVENANl*. 

Slowly, slowly tolls the death-note, at the Cross the scaffold 

stands: 
Freedom, law, and life are playthings where the Tyrant's voice 

commands: 
Found in blood your throne and temple! fortaste of a glorious 

reign ; 
Though the heavens were hung in sackcloth, let the Witnesses 

be slain! 

'Tis the merriest month of summer, 'tis the sweetest day in 

.June, 
And the sun breathes joy in all things, riding at his highest 

noon; 
Yet a silence, deep and boding, broods on all the city round. 
And a fear is on the people, as an earthquake rocked the ground. 

Slowly, slowly tolls the death-note, at the Cross the scaffold 

stands; 
And the Guardsmen prance and circle, marshalled in their 

savage bands; 
And the people swell and gather, heaving darklj^ like the deep, 
When, in fitful gusts, the north winds o'er its troubled bosom 

sweep. 

N"ow the grim Tolbooth is opened, and the death-procession 

forms. 
With the tinsel pomps of ofhce, with a vain parade of arms: 
Lowly in the midst, and leaning on his staff, in humble guise 
Guthrie comes, the Proto-martyr! ready for the sacrifice; 
Guthrie comes, the Proto-martyr ! and a stern and stifled groan 
Runs through the multitude; but patiently he passeth on; 



THE DEATH OF JAMES GUTHRIE. 123 

And the people stand uncovered, and they gaze with stream- 
ing eyes, 
As when of old the fierj^ chariot rapt Elijah to the skies. 

On his staff in meekness leaning, see him bend infirm and weak ; 
Man in j^oiith, and old in manhood, pale and sunken is his 

cheek. 
And adown his shoulders flowing, locks grown prematurely 

gi-ay, 
Yet the spirit, strong in weakness, feels no languor nor decay ; 
And a loftiness is on him, such as fits a noble mind. 
Like the oak in grandeur rising, howsoever blows the wind ; 
On his lip, though blarched with vigils, sits the will to dare 

or die, 
And the fires of grace and genius sparkle in his cloudless eye. 

"This frail and mortal fiesh, I give it 

Freely to the Lord of all ! 
Were my limbs of brass and iron, 

'T were an offering far too small. 
Life is onh' ours to serve Him ; 

And our term of service done, 
Death for Him and for His Covenant 

Is an honour cheaply won. 

" I^ot as felon, nor as traitor, 

Whatso evil tongues poclaim. 
Am I hither come to saffer 

Ever}^ brand of outward shame. 
Fixed and serious in my pur^Dose 

Where the hand of God was seen ; 



124 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

Yet in all things have I laboured 
To preserve my garments clean. 

" T was loyal when the kingdom 

Bowed to Cromwell's hanghty frown; 
Few would own the royal standard 

All defaced and trodden down. 
Then the flatterers who doom me 

To suffer in the street, 
Whined and fawned like stricken spaniels 

Round the Lord Protector's feet ! 

" Constant to my Prince, and constant 

To the vows we both had taken, 
Faithful to his right I stood, when 

By his summer friends forsaken. 
Loyal am I, free to render 

Unto Caesar Caesar's due, 
Tribute, custom, temporal honour, 

And obedience leal and true. 

But the King who reigns in Zion, 

High o'er every earthly throne. 
Shall I flinch from His allegiance? 

Or my solemn vows disown? 
With uplifted hands I swore it. 

When the N'ation joined in band. 
Monarch, magistrates, and nobles. 

And the peasants of the land ! 
Though I knew by signs and shadows 

That my life-blood must be spent 



THE DEATH OF .TAME8 GUTHRIE. 125 

In the work and in the warfare, 
Struggling for the Covenant. 

Welcome scaffold I "tis a Bethel, 

Angel-wmgs are hovering here; 
Welcome ladder! thou shalt lift me 

Far beyond this cloudy sphere. 
Ah I thou Daughter of my people I 

Sweet and lovely at thy birth, 
When the throes of Keformation 

Shook the old astonished earth, 
What a blight is on thy beauty. 

Since thou hast forgot thy truth. 
And the joys of thy bright morning. 

The sweet espousals of thy youth ! 

Thou shalt suffer! God's true Gospel 

Shall be darkened, and a brood 
Of locusts overspread thy vallej's. 

Leaving neither flower nor food ; 
And the wild-boar from the forest 

Rush on thy defenceless home; 
For thy watchmen do not warn thee 

Of the woes about to come; 
But they slumber, drugged with wine-lees, 

Or they quail in carnal fear ; 
And thy bondage shall continue 

Till the Lord Himself appear, 
Till He make His right arm naked, 

To avenge His people's wrongs! 
And restore the mom-nful captives, 

With everlasting songs. 



120 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

'' Here my pil^riiirs staff is broken, 

All my bands are now untied ; 
I die to live with Him for ever. 

Who for my salvation died. 
Faith, which long hath groped and wavered 

In this world's uncertain light, 
Leaping from its mortal prison, 

Now is passing into sight. 
Earthly cares and human contests, 

Inward pangs and darkness cease, 
Xow, O Lord I dismiss Thy servant 

Into everlasting peace!" 

He hath spoken I Seal his sentence ; little boots it what ye do : 
He hath spoken I and recorded darker, heavier doom on youl 

Hurry on the doom assigned him by the minions of your State, 

Rend the head from off his body, fix it on your city-gate; 

Let the Lyon-Herald taint him, be his arm reversed and torn; 

Be his earthly goods confiscate, let his household wail and 
mourn; 

Crush the Spiritual by the Carnal, answer Conscience with the 
sword; 

By the dungeon and the scaffold force submission to your word : 

Good and Evil, Force and Freedom, let them close with dead- 
ly yell! 

'Tis a warfare old as Satan, deep as the abyss of Hell! 

He hath spoken! and his words are not water on the ground; 
Years may vanish, but his warnings shall in all their truth be 

found. 
He hath spoken ! and the Nation to its inmost soul hath heard 



THE DEATH OF JAMES GUTHRIE. 127 

And the withered bones are shaken by the breathings of his 

word ; 
And, though dead, his guiding spirit in the land for aye shal^ 

dwell, 
And Oppression's boasted strongholds shiver at the mighty 

spell. 



128 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 



CARGILL TAKEN PRISONER AT COTINGTON MILL, 
ON THE CLYDE. 

July, 1G81. 

[Donald Cargtll, born about the year 1610, iii the 
parish of Rattray, Perthshire, was one of the ministers of 
Glasgow at the period of the Restoration ; but stoutly resist- 
ing the introduction of Prelacy, and maintaining the rights 
of the Presbyterian Church of Scotland, he was deprived of 
his office by the Government. He became, in consequence, 
a field-preacher and a leading spirit among the persecuted 
Covenanters. He had certainly the courage of his opin- 
ions, for after preaching to a large congregation at Torwood, 
a place between Stirling and Falkirk, he openly pro- 
nounced sentence of excommunication against the King 
and the Duke of York, the Dukes of Monmouth, Lauder- 
dale, and Rothes, Sir George Mackenzie, and Sir Thomas 
Dalziel of Binns. This act of defiance specially incensed 
the Government, and every effort was made by it to appre- 
hend the undaunted Presbyterian minister. Its vengeance 
was at length gratified by the apprehension of Cargill near 



CAR(iILL TAKEN PRISONEK. 129 

Lanark, through the activity of Irving, the laird of Bon- 
shaw, Dumfriesshire, who commanded a troop of horse in 
the Royal service. Cargill was immediately condemned 
in Edinburgh, and was executed the day after his condem- 
nation. Though he went such lengths in resisting a tyranni- 
cal government, this martyr is described by his contem- 
poraries as a man of singular devoutness and exemplary 
life, not naturally of a bold and imperious, but rather a 
mild and amiable temper.] 

I. 

The Clyde rolls on majestic, beneath a July moon ; 
The sky is calm and cloudless, well-nigh as bright as noon ; 
And far into the heavens Cothwhan uplifts his height, 
With his young and floating tresses all bathed in streams of 

light, 
Like some angelic watcher, to watch with radiant eye 
O'er holy CargilFs slumber in the miller's cot hard by. 

II. 

The blessing rest upon thee, and deep, serene repose! 
And the cloudy pillar hide thee from the fury of thy foes! 
With strong heart hast thou wrestled in the fullness of the 

day, 
And thy God shall be thy glory when the earth-lights die away. 
Whoso are true and faithful unto their latest breath, 
Bud when the false ones wither, and greenest look in death. 

III. 

But see those forms that darkly from the distant heights appear ; 
That hollow sound, whence comes it, like horesemen trampling 
near? 



130 POETllY OF THE COVENANT. 

'Tis but the dark wood waving where St. John's kirk standeth 

lone, 
And that hollow tramp of horsemen is but the night-wind's 

moan. 
And all is peace and sweetness; the moon looks from on high 
On her cradled children smiling with her blessed mother-eye. 

IV. 

Ah no ! 'tis not the dark wood, 'tis not the night wind's moan ; 
'Tis the savage troop of Bonshaw that are hither rushing on. 
The door is burst, the chamber is filled with steel-shod feet, 
And the aged slumberer shaken from his slumbers still and 

sweet. 
He looks at first half-wildered, then meekl}^ riseth up, 
And with cheerful heart i)repareth to drink his Master's cup. 

V. 

Across the Clyde they bear him, and to Lanark roughly ride, 
While beneath the horse's belly his legs are closely tied. 
And loud the jeers and laughter, and Bonshaw yells with glee, 
" A blessed day for Bonshaw, a blessed prize to me, 
Six thousand merks are clinking on that blessed saddle-tree I" 

VI. 

By the ancient kirk at Lanark, in the eye of all the hills, 
Then spake God's ancient servant, and tim^ the word fulfils: 
" I tell thee, cruel Bonshaw, that on high hast built thy nest. 
By whom God's Church and people so long have been opprest. 
Where now thou stand'st exulting in the greatness of thy lust, 
A bloody hand from thine own wild band shall strike thee to 
the dust, 



CARGILL TAKEN PRISONER. 131 

As low as thou art lordly shalt thou welter in thy blood, 
And this shall be ere yon ash tree again begin to bud." 

VIII. 

And so before that ash tree again began to bud. 

As low as he was lordly did he welter in his blood. 

A bloody hand from his own wild band did strike him to the 

dust, 
Where then he stood exulting in the greatness of his lust. 
By the ancient kirk at Lanark was the mangled carcase laid, 
And the word returned not empty which the godly man had 

said. 

YIII. 

But gently, like the streamlet that seeks the ocean's breast. 
Old Cargill passeth onward to his centre and his rest. 
Even as an aged pilgrim, who sadly toils along, 
Enters the city gladly at the cpiiet even song. 

IX. 

The wise and wakeful virgins, whose lamps were trimmed and 
bright, 

AVent forth to meet the bridegroom at the midwatch of the 
night, 

And dreaded not the darkness, their lamps so clearly burned. 

But forth they went rejoicing, and with bridal wreaths re- 
turned. 



132 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 



THE DOVE AND THE RUIN. 

[In an excursion in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh, 
the writer had occasion to pass an old ruined tower, which, 
in former days, was the seat of one who gained unenviable 
distinction as a ready and unscrupulous tool in the peise- 
cution of the Scottish Covenanters. On entering the door- 
way to examine the ruin, a dove was observed nestling near 
the roof. The place, and the well known emblematic char- 
acter of this fEivorite of the groves, suggested the poem. 
The tower mentioned is understood to be the tower of Binns, 
in Linlithgowshire, once the residence of General Dalziel, a 
man of such evil repute in the days of the great persecu- 
tion.] 

J'raveller. 

O DOVE I that charmest the stream and grove, is this fit haunt 
for thee? 

The walls are blackening into dust, the chambers foul to see : 

Xo cowslip peeps beneath the bush, no lark salutes the morn ; 

Spring quickens not the plane tree's leaf, nor swells the bud- 
ding thorn. 



THE DOVE AND THE RUIN. 183 

Oh, hie thee to the Almond banks, where beeches stately grow ; 
For there thy wing may sweetly rest, thy murmurs sweetly 

flow. 
This spot is waste and desolate, and leaf and blade are sere; 
Then why, O tender, warbling dove! why art thou resting 

here? 

Dove. 
Slight no spot in this beautiful earth, 

Crumbling tower, or desert wild : 
For Nature, which hath given them birth. 

Bestows fit dower on every child. 
Love makes lovely all she looks on, 

And flow'rets spring where she glides along; 
Ruins smile and deserts blossom, 

And branchless thickets fill with song. 
From confusion order wakes. 
After midnight morning breaks : 
This spot is drear, the leaves all sere, 
Yet I, the Bird of Love, am here. 

Traveller. 
The curse of rapine stamps decay on buttress, arch and wall. 
The earth around is barrenness whereon no dews maj^ fall; 
The spoiler of the saints is spoiled, his heritage laid bare, 
And all is blackness now where he, the bloodhound, had his 

lair. 
The blight may fail to strip the flower, the lightning lose its 

ain' , 
But vengeance from the Lord shall blast the persecutor's name. 
This spot is waste and desolate, and leaf and blade are sere ; 
Then why, gentle-hearted dove ! why art thou resting here? 



134 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

Dove. 
When for the Crown and the Covenant 

Scotland's faithful remnant stood, 
And Antichrist did hotly pant 

To glut his maw in the elect's blood, 
O'er the moorland tracked by foemen, 

In torturing cell, on gallows tree, 
Peace hung o'er them, heaven before them, 

And death but gave them victory. 
When the bloodhound held this den, 
Weakest things had strengthening then ! 
This spot is drear, the leaves all sere. 
Yet I, the Bird of Peace, am here! 

TrdveAler. 

But what avails heroic strife? the crown of glory won? 
The father's creed is ridiculed by his degenerate son; 
The burning mart}^-- words of faith are laughed at with disdiiin. 
He sealed the covenant with his blood, his blood is shed in vjiin. 
To endless struggles, baffled hopes, our weary lot is fixed ; 
The victor}^ that one age proclaims is still undone the next: 
And prostrate in inglorious dust our aspirations lie : 
'Tis better that we eat and drink, to-morrow we must die! 

Dote. 

If thou hadst faith like a mustard-seed, 

Couldest thou tremble thus aghast? 
The clouds may shift, but the sun shines through, 

And tempests rage, but the earth stands fast. 
Symbols wane, the truths rekindle 

With fuel fresh and wider spread : 



THE DOVE AND THE RUIN. 135 

Old oppressions stir; but valour, 

By ages stronger, strikes them dead, 
Forward, forward rolls the war! 
Triumphs beckon from afar! 
This spot is drear, the leaves all sere, 
Yet I, the Bird of Faith, am here. 



13G POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 



THE AGED COVENANTER. 

HIS DEATH ON HEARING OF THE DEFEAT AT THE PENTLANDS. 

[AMOiq"GST the four hundred Presbyterian ministers who, 
about the year 1663, gave up or were ejected from their 
livings, on account of their refusal to conform to Episco- 
pacy, was Arthur Murray, an aged minister of Orkney. 
"This good and aged man," says Wodrow, *' was living in 
the suburbs of Edinburgh, through {which Dalziel's sol- 
diers marched in triumph, on their return from the battle of 
the Pentlands. When he opened his window, and saw 
them display their banners, and heard the shouts of the 
soldiers, triumphing over the prisoners, he was struck to 
the very heart, took to his bed immediately, and died in 
a day or two."] 

O lord! remember in Thy love Thy persecuted flock, 
Who flee for refuge from the wolf to mountain and to rock! 
And if, to right their cruel wrongs, the sword they nohly draw, 
Oil! mav it flash like cherubim's, in brish-tness and in awe! 



THE AGED COVENANTER. 137 

Our lily flowers of Fresbj^tery by swinish hoofs are soiled ; 
Our ancient Scottish liberties by lawless hands despoiled; 
The peaceful hearths at which we sat, our children on our knee. 
Are ringing now with the tramp and curse of a heathen soldiery 

" Hey for the boots and the thumbikins, 

But and the gallows tree! 
And hang the Whigamore loons 

Where Whigamore loons should be! 
Bound by the edge of the Pentlands, 

Up on the Rullion Green, 
I trow we spilled their sour milk. 

And tapp'd their Covenant spleen.'' 

What shoutings, fiercer than the blast? These shouts! I 

know them well! 
"Tis the fiendish rout and revelry of the troopers of Dalziel ! 
His ruthless nature only knows to ravage and to slay. 
And many a godly family are fatherless this day. 
In all the glens of Galloway a wailing voice is heard, 
And sore afliicted Annandale mourns like a mateless bird; 
And Rachel for her children weeps, whilst Herod quaffs his 

wine, 
Yet ever turns a ghastly eye to Bethlehem's awful sign! 

The foxes have their-hiding-ptace, and burrow safely there. 
The partridge finds some leafy nook, free from the fowler's 

snare ; 
But shade or shelter none is found our poor oppressed to save, 
Hamlet or city, house or field, mountain or forest-cave. 
Where faithful pastors fed their flocks, false curates give them 

straw. 



138 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

And gobble up all carnal things with foul insatiate maw: 
A sav'ry feast for the Romish Beast black Prelacy prepares, 
The jackal only tracks the prey which the huge old lion tears. 

" There's a pack for the Haddo's Hole, 

There's a pack for the Old Tolbooth ; 
And we'll blind the eyes of Presbytery, 

And grind her snarling tooth. 
Hey for the boots and the thumbikins, 

But and the gallows-tree! 
And hang the Whigamore loons, 

Then harry the West Countriel" 

Oh ! bear me to my bed in haste, my heart hath burst in twain, 
When green and goodly oaks are rent, shall withered stocks 

remain? 
As Eli fell, when Aphek's field beheld the ark depart. 
So Scotland's broken Covenant hath broke my trembling heart 
I thought to sleep amid mine own, by Scalpa's rushing wave; 
But now my aged bones have found the Greyf riars for a grave. 
And where, in nobler monument, could my poor dust be stored. 
Than there where Scotland's martyr-host are waiting for their 
Lord? 

" Huzza for the crown and the mitre ! 

We'll pledge them in merry brown ale : 
' Life's but a span and a soldier's a man' 

Then drink till our pockets fail ! 
And Old Tom will find us in bootj^, 

With fines from the West Countrie churls, 
Who'd cock up their greasy blue bonnets 

Above all our dukes and earls." 



THE AGED COVENANTER. 139 

A bloody sword gleams far and wld^, and the priests of Baal 

shall tread 
In rage upon God's heritage, and righteous blood be shed: 
But, hark! the mighty angel's voice proclaims from sea to 

shore, 
That Babylon is fallen, is fallen, is fallen to rise no more! 
From gifted Wishart's bed of fire to gracious Guthrie's death 
The righteous blood shall be required, in wonders and in 

wrath : 
The dair.ty sm-plice shall not screen, and tlie Council shall 

sink dumb, 
And the sceptre quiver like a reed, when the days of vena-eance 



Some precio"s ties encircle me, some mem'ries of the past, 

An old man's heart, though dimmed, hath gleams the bright- 
est at the last, 

My little homestead, and the kirk, and Orkney's sea-voice 
stern ! 

But cease, my passing soul! why thus with earthly visions 
yearn ? 

Yet must we part, spouse of my heart, mirror of love and truth, 

The solace of my life's decline, companion of my youth? 

How sweet hath been our fellowship through loiag, long, 
changeful years ! 

We meet in heaven, where death is not, nor warfare, change, 
or tears ! 

Now earth, and time, and creature-thoughts are fading from 

mine eye. 
O man! thoii art alone with God, prepare thyself to die : 
The faintest and the feeblest of the followers of the Lamb, 



140 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

'Tis by the sovereign grace of God I am now what I am ! 
The veil is parting, flesh is failing, light or path is none! 
God of the feeble, guide of the feeblest! Glorj''! peace! 'tis 



won 



'•Into Thine hands I do commit my spirit; for Thou art He, 
O Thou Jehovah, God of tjuth, that hast redeemed me!" 



THE BATTLE OF AIRSMOSS. 141 



THE BATTLE OF AIRSMOSS. 

FOUGHT IN JULY, 1680. 

'Tis morn, the broad red sun 

Gleams through his misty covering; 
The plover and the wild curlew 

On fitful wing are hovering. 
The wearied ones have laid them down, 

If lint a moment they may rest; 
Earth! they shall soon be all thine own, 

Then take them gently to thy breast! . 

Scarce have their eyelids closed 

When the watcher's warning cry is heard, 
And each with a sudden bound 

Starts from sleep, and grasps his sword. 
Along the dark, outstretching heath, 

Sullen and tierce the troopers come. 
With helmets' glare, with cries of rage. 

With loud harsh clang of trump and drum. 



142 fop:try of the covenant. 

One moment, stern and still, 

The martja-s view them gathering nigh ; 
One moment, with an earnest look, 

Each on his brother turns his eye. 
But Danger's hour is Freedom's birth, 

No fear or craven look is there : 
All circle round the man of God, 

Who calmly pours their latest prayer. 

Cameron's Last Fkayek, 

Shepherd that didst Joseph lead! 
Helper in the hour of need ! 
Treader in the winepress! we 
Lift our waiting eyes to Thee! 
On rush the foeman like a flood. 
And the desert gapes for blood. 

Lord! spare the green, the ripest take! 

Hear us for Thine own name's sake! 

Here stand we, on the last retreat 
That earth will yield our weary feet; 
From rocky cave to mountain chas'd, 
From mountain to the desert waste; 
From the waste to heaven we soar. 
Sinless, painless evermore. 

Lord! spare the green, the ripest take! 

Hear us for Thine own name's sake ! 

With a longing strong and deej), 
With a bridegroom's joy we leap; 
We have panted for this hour. 
To grasp the tyrant in his power; 



THE BATTLE OF AIRSMOSS. 143 

And write in blood our legacj"" 

To nations struggling to be free. 

Lord! spare the green, the ripest take 
Hear us for Thine own name's sake! 

Through the floods be Thou our guide, 
In the flames be at our side; 
Purge us from our drossy clay, 
Wash our mortal stains away : 
Christ our King hath pass'd before; 
Bloody sea, but blessed shore! 

Bearer of the eternal keys. 

Bear us through our agonies! 



A scorn to all the passers-by? 

Shall godless heart and gory hand 

For ever scourge Thine ancient land: 

Awake, arm of the Lord! "tis time. 

The earth is drunk with blood and crime. 

And crush the thrones that will not fear Thee! 

Smite the lands that will not hear Thee! 

Now for tlie onset! Brothers, kneel! 
Lord, give us faith and holy zeal; 
Loose the ties tliat gently bind us, 
Heal the hearts we leave behind us ; 
May we die as die the brave. 
And freedom yet spring from our grave ! 

Treader in the winepress! we 

Kise to be evermore with Thee! 



144 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

By the black and weltering swamp, 

A small green mound uplifts its brow, 
'Twas the altar whence their incence rose : 

'Tis their camp and battle-fortress now I 
The startled hare hath fled the brake, 

Xo lark remains to greet the morn ; 
The raven only flaps his wing. 

And whets his beak on the gnarled thorn. 

" Down with the cut-eared dogs!" 

The troopers gnash their teeth and cry : 
" God is our refuge and our strength!" 

Is the brief and sternly-breathed reply. 
With hunger, toil, oppression worn, 

Their numbers few, their weapons rude, 
In firm and close array they stand 

Against that ravening multitude. 

The blades like lightning flash, 

And volleyed thunders rend the sky ; 
The war-steeds paw the heathery sod. 

Aloft the glittering pennons fly. 
But, as from Ailsa's sea-beat cliff, 

The howling surge is backward toss'd ; 
Even so these fierce battalions reel, 

Stemmed by that firm, devoted host. 

Though few and scant equipped, 

Riglit forth they burst with one loud cheer 

And many an empty saddle tells 
The fate of many a cavalier. 



THE BATTLE OF AIRSMOSS. 145 

Before that storm of peasant strength, 
Dark sweeping as the northern blast, 

White plume and glittering pennon whirl. 
In one wild wreck and ruin cast. 



High on his gallant roan, 

From rank to rank Eathillet flies; 
Where he rushes terror spreads, 

Where he strikes a foeman dies. 
But what avails the lion's might 

When crow^ding hunters round him close 
Pierced from behind, Eathillet falls, 

Amid the yell of deadly foes. 



" Shame on the coward arm!" 

Young Chryston cries, and, like a dart. 
Flies to avenge Rathillet's fall; 

An eagle, young and strong of heart. 
Whose nest is on the Calder banks; 

On fierce and fiery wing he rushes. 
And in one glorious hero-burst, 

Forth from its fount his young heart gushes. 

And CameroH, soul of fire! 

What quenches others quickens thee ! 
In the tumult still his voice is heard, 

"For Scotland's faith and liberty!" 
Priest of the outcast! down he sinks. 

The shepherd 'mid his slaughtered flock. 
Brave one! thy Master calls thee home. 

Then soar through blood and battle-smoke? 



10 



146 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

Long rolls the unequal strife. 

And men and horse like foam are driven; 
And shouts and shrieks, curses and prayers, 

King wide through all the vault of heaven. 
At length, in threefold numbers ranged. 

On press the foe with rage and pride, 
Till one by one the martyr-band 

Drop by their faithful pastor's side. 

Like reapers dropping down, 

Their sheaves around them thickly strewn; 
So drop the soldiers of the Cross, 

By numbers crushed, and toil alone. 
Silence again is on the heath. 

The war-steed's neigh comes faint and far. 
Ye chosen ones, to glory rise! 

The harp, the crown, the morning star! 

By the black and weltering swamp, 

A small green mound uplifts its brow ; 
'Tvvas their altar, 'twas their battle-ground, 

'Tis their martyr-spot and death-bed now I 
There, shrouded in their own heart's blood. 

Their bodies rest upon the field, 
Till pious hands shall make their tomb, 

And lay them where their truth was sealed. 



For their rights and faith they fell! 

They fell that these might ever stand. 
Men of a race that shall ne'er forget 

What they owe to that dauntless martyr-band. 



THE BATTLE OF AIRS3IOSS. ]4( 

Then rear for them no sculptur'd pile, 

Set a rough grey stone on the lonely heath I 

Not a hind or child in Scotland all 
But can tell right Avell ivho He beneath I 



148 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 



THE MARTYR OF PRIESTHILL. 

[John Brown, the Christian carrier of Priesthi II, in the 
parish of Muirkirk, Ayrshire, deservedly occupies a high 
place in the martyr-roll of Scottish Covenanters. He was 
shot by Claverhonse at his own door, in presence of his wife 
and children. The hardened troopers were so melted by 
Brown's prayer, offered up in the expectation of immediate 
death, that they refused to fire upon him at the word of 
command, whereupon their commander himself shot his 
victim through the head with his own hand . The interview 
between Brown and liis wife before they were parted by 
death, and the conduct of the poor woman in composir^' 
and weeping over her husband's mangled remains, are 
among the most pathetic things in all history. Tie 
character of Brown, both in life and at death, shone forth 
with the highest lustre; while the act of Claverhouse, in 
killing him so brutally, is universally execrated. 

For a fine half-tone picture of the monument to the mem- 
ory of John Brown, reproduced from a photograph taken on 
the spot, see the plate on the opposite page of this volume. 




'^^k:AMM:M 



THE MARTYR OF PKIESTHILL. 149 

Many years ago a flat stone was placed over this martyr's 
grave Avitli an inscription around the margin, beginning 
at the upper left hand corner, running across the top, down 
the right side, across the bottom, and up the left side of 
the stone to the place of beginning, and there continuing 
for six lines more across the top. This inscription reads 
as follows : 

Here lies the body of John Brown Martyr who was murder- 
ed in this place by Graham of Claverhouse for his testimony 
to the Covenanted work of Keforn ation Because he durst not 
own the authority of the then Tyrant destroying the same. 
Who died the first day of May A D 1685 and of his age 58. 

Running lengthwise of the rest of the stone, within the 
border formed by the first part of the former inscription, 
are the following lines, forming an acrostic : 

I n deaths cold bed the dusty part here lies 
O I one who did the earth as dust despise 
H ere in this place from earth he took departure 
N ow he has got the garland of the martyr 

B utehered by Claverse and his bloody band 

Jx aging most ravenously over all the land 

O nly for owning Christ's Supremacy 

W ickedly wronged by encroaching Tyranny 

^N" othing how near soever he to good 

E steemed, nor dear for any truth his blood. 

On the side of the new pillar facing the north-west is tlie 
following inscription : 



150 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

THIS MONUMENT 

WAS 

EBECTED 

AND THE ADJOINING GIIAA'E 

of 
JOHN BROWN 

INCLOSED 

by money collected • 
at 
A SERMON 
preached here by the 

REV. JOHN MILWAINE 

on 

Aug. 28th, 1825 

in 

COMMEMORATION 

Of 

THE 

MAllTYBS. 

On the other side are the names of those who provided 
the monument and superintended its erection. And on a 
small stone on the north-west side of the inclosure wall is 
the passage of Scripture : 

" Them that honour me I will honour, and they that despise 
me shall be lightly esteemed.'' — 1 Sam. 2: 50. 

This small stone in the inclosure wall is clearly shown in 
the picture already referred to, which gives a vivid concep- 
tion of the wild moorland, and the retired and gloomy glen 
where the monument stands — *' a fitting scene," says James 
Gibson, in his " Tombstones of the Covenanters," for the 
dark tragedy enacted by Claverhouse, as a more lonely and 
desolate spot can scarcely be conceived."] 



THE MARTYR OF PRIESTHILL. 151 

Time— The First Morning of Mcvy, 1685. 

ScKNE I.— Interior of the Cottage of Priesthill; Early dawn; John Brown and 
Iiis family engaged m their morning devotions ; His family, consisting of his 
wife, by a second marriage, whose maiden name was Isabella Weir ; his daughter 
Janet, about ten years of age, by his first marriage; and an infant boy by the 
second. 

They sing part of Psalm joxvii. 

" Against me though au host encamp. 

My heart yet fearless is : 
Though war against me rise, I will 

Be confident in this. 



One thing I of the Lord desired, 
And will seek to obtain, 

That all days of my life I may 
Within God's House remain : 



That I the beauty of the Lord 
Behold may and admire, 

And that I in his holy place 
May reverently inquire." 



He then reads in the gospel of John, chapter jcvi., 
in which the following passages occur: 

" These things have I spoken unto you, that ye should not be oflfended. They 
shall put you out of the synagogues : Yea, the time cometh, that whosoever killeth 
you will think that he doeth God service. And these things will they do unto you, 
because they have not known the Father, nor me. 

"It is expedient for you that I go away: for if I go not away, the Comforter, 
will not come unto you ; but if I depart, I will send him unto you. When he, the 
Spirit of truth, is come, he Avill guide you into all truth: for he shall not speak of 
himself; but whatsoever he shall hear, that shall he speak: and he will show you 
things to come. 

" Verily, verily, I say unto you, that ye shall weep and lament, but the world 
shall rejoice : and ye shall be sorrowful, but your sorrow shall be turned into joy 
A woman when she is in travail hath sorrow, because her hour is come : but as soon 
as she is delivered of the child, she remembereth no more the anguish, for the joy 
that a man is born into the world. And ye now therefore have sorrow : but I wil 
see you again, and your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man taketh from you. 



152 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

After off ering up a solemn and meinorahle prayer, 
he rises, blesses his family, and goes out ivith Jiis 
implements of labour. 



Scene n. — The Heights to the west of Lesmahagow: Claverhouse, at the head of 
three trooops of dragoons, and attended by Cannon, the spy, who has undertak- 
en to betray Brown. 

Claverhouse. Another vile, misty morning. May-day, 
too ! May-day in Ayrshire ! Certainly this Ayrshire is 
a great breeder of Whigs and mists, very suitable compan- 
ions. {Turning to the Spy). We shall catch the weasel, 
though ? 

Cani^on. No doubt of it, sir. His wife who takes me 
for one of the brotherhood, told me he was to steal home 
this morning from his hiding in the moors. But, may I 
beseech you, sir, spare his life ! If he were not crazed by 
conventicles, he is a good, innocent man, that would not 
do an act of wrong or violence to gain the w^hole world. 
In one way and another, he has been friend to almost every 
b )dy from Clyde to Ayr's mouth. When my own wife 
and children were lying ill in one bed 

Claverhouse. Peace, chattering booby ! I have let 
you talk so far, because I like to know what edge my tools 
have got. Hark ye, sirrah ! I keep two j)istols in my belt, 
one for Whig vermin, the other for such ill-dijDt rascals as 
yoLi. B 3 ware ! Soldiers ! see that you are charged. We're 
in the Ayrshire moors, and belike may start a covey of 
psalm-singers in some of the hollows. 



Scene III.— The high moor ground overtopping Priesthill ; Cairntable Hill rising 
straight opposite ; Brown occupied in casting turf for fuel, but often stopping 
from working, and looking around him, and upwards, in an earnest and medi" 



THE MARTYR OF PRIESTIIILI.. 153 

In a glen in the same moorland, but at some little distance, and unseen, a num- 
ber of the young men and women of the surrounding hamlets are supposed to have 
met together, to hold the old revels of " May Morning." 

Brown. Again the earth, waked from her wintiy trance, 
Starts up with looks of promise and of joy. 
All nature is alive, all life is fresh 
With youthful brightness and a new-felt power. 
Copy, tho' faint, not utterly defaced, 
Of that first glorious birth and spring of being, 
When on the shapeless mass the Spirit of God 
Moved, and brought forth a world all good, all fair. 

Down from the mountains gentlj^ come the winds, 
The plains beneath open their breasts to meet them : 
The mist, which erewhile hung upon the morn, 
Veiling its extreme loveliness, disparts; 
And bird and beast to one great song of praise 
Are all attuned. 

'Tis the First Morn of May! 

(A pause.) 

And there thou look'st abroad, Cairntable! watching 
As with a hunter's eye the growing light; 
While the Sun paws the orient clouds, impatient 
To run his mighty race. Into thy bosom, 
Swelling with vernal impulse, dost thou draw 
The fatness and rich influence of the morn, 
For nourishment of all thy founts and streams, 
And all thy herds, and manifold sweet creatures 
To w^hom thou art a nurse, yea, and a mother. 
And yonder (dearest, loveliest sight of all!). 
Deep in the hollow of the valley, like 



154 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

The lark's nest in the wildernesSv peeps forth 
Mine own beloved home ! lightly the smoke 
Curls on the morning breeze, where Isabel, 
God's richest earthly gift to me, attends 
Her household and her household duties, with 
A care no less than Martha's, 3''et is not 
Like her world-cumber'd, but the better part, 
Like holier Mary, hath she wisely chosen. 
Methinks I see my little Janet skipping 
About the door, blithest of children she ! 
Yet never thoughtless in her merriment. 
Prudent already as a housewife, and 
A help and meet companion to her mother. 

(Apaiise.) ^ 

wife ! O children ! can I give you up ? 
Most precious are ye to me ; never man 
Yearned with more fondness o'er his home of love. 
Myself of silent spirit, in them I found 

A centre, and perpetual stored-up fountain 

For all the gushing fulness of my heart. 

Too much of idols have they been, too much 

Have come between me and the Sovereign Lord. 

Yet merciful as sovereign, blessed Saviour I 

Forgive this frailty, subjugate this passion. 

And make mine earth-affections stoop in awe, 

And, even as bondmaids, to their heavenly mistress 

In deep and all-resigning homage bow. 

And verily the hour of trial comes ! 

The blast already ruffles in the branches ! 

1 hear its fatal singing. 



THE MARTYR OF PRIESTHILL. 155 

Tho' 'tis May-day, 
And bud and sap around me, yet I know 
That not with nie 'tis May-day. 

'Tis at hand, 
The withering tempest that will strip my home, 
IS'ot the abode as now of simple joys, 
But house of death and mourning I I am warned 
By the times and seasons. In the cave and dungeon, 
On scaffold and on highway and lone moor, 
And hard-fought battle-tield, one after one 
My brethren perish. I am also warned 
By inward tokens and foreshadowings, 
By presages and burdens from without. 
But yestermorn, when Peden left the dwelling, 
(Whose sore, wayfaring feet turned for a night 
To seek short respite underneath our roof), 
Thrice did he press poor Isabel's hand and groaned. 
His eyes with sorrow more than age, bedimmed, 
'• Alas, poor thing I a dark, a misty morning I"' 
'Tis seldom now he speaks. His heart is dumb 
Beneath the visitation of the Lord. 
In desert paths he wanders, and all night 
Derns in the clifty rock, sleepless, and wrestling 
For the remnant of the people! 

Yes! I know 
Mine end is near: we must be hunted down. 
And now, Lord! I am ready to be offered : 
My times are in Thine hand, so is my strength; 
Thiough suffering make me perfect! 

Sweet the ties 
That bind me to the earth; but greater still 



156 rOETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

The voice that calls oie on ! 

{Noise as of shouting and singing heard at a distance.} 

What strange and startling noise is this which breaks 
Upon the desert solitude! 

{Noise continues, and voices heard singing confusedly.) 

May-Soxg. 

Eoumt the thorn on the sweet May-:uorn, 
Dance it merrily, dance it merrily ! 

Alas ! 
Now I remember; 'tis an heathenish custom 
Amongst the village youth to celebrate 
The first May-morning with wild dance and song; 
Dark relic of old Pagan revelries. 
For many bygone years, whilst in this land 
Flourished a pure and gospel ministry, 
This baneful weed was all but rooted out. 
Since Antichrist again hath raised his horn, 
These secret, poisonous seeds are springing up ; 
As blight or mildew in one night may rot 
What a long fertile spring hath richly nourished. 
And they that would enslave the human soul. 
And turn to their base ends the powers of man. 
Must first corrupt before they fetter. 

Wise 
And uncorrupted spirits brook no chain ! 

O sinful, woeful land! where half thy children 
Cain- like destroy the other, or but mock 
Their dying groans, and dance upon their graves : 
Where God's poor flock are slaughtered all day long, 



THE MARTYR OF PRIESTHILL. 157 

And no account is taken, save in heaven! 
But know, the axe is laid at thy vile root, 
And thou shalt be hewn down, with stroke on stroke. 

{The voices become louder, and seem approaciiing nearer, sing- 
ing in a rough and boisterous maimer.) 

MAY SOl^^G— continued. 

Round the thorn on the sweet May-morn, 

Dance it merrily, dance it merrily ! 
They that mourn when buds are born. 

Will certainly die in December. 

Maids and shepherds ! fresh and young, 
Light to the heel and blythe of tongue. 
Ere lamb has leapt or lark has sung, 

Merrily keep the May-day ! 
Who can tell what may hap to-morrow? 
Who would couple youth and sorrow ? 
Then come and range the green woods thorough: 

Merrily keep the May-day ! 

Round the thorn on the sweet May-morn, 

Dance it merrily, dance it merrily ! 
They that mourn when buds are born. 

Will certainly die in December. 

The curate sits at the alehouse door, 
And benison gives to the wild uproar, 
Mess John was not so jolly of yore • 

Merrily keep the May-day ! 
Troubles there be by land and sea. 
Things are not as they used to be : 
But— Youth and May !— ho, what care we ? 

Merrilly keep the May-day ! 

Round the thorn on the sweet May-morn, 

Dance it merrily, dance it merrily ! 
They that mourn when buds are born. 

Will certainly die in December !" 

( TJi e voices sudden ly stop; in a few minutes a shout 
s heard : ''The troopers I th e troopers !" an d th e 



158 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

muUUude nosh down the slopes dispersedly. Clav- 
erhouse inarches up with his troops, who surround 
Brown.) 



.Scene IV.— Same pavt of the moor ; the troops surrounding Brown ; Claverhouse 
rides up to him. 

Clavekhouse. Your name is John Brown of Priestbill ? 

Brown. It is. 

Claverhouse. Pray for the king. 

Brown. Prayer is like the gales of heaven, which come 
not at man's bidding, but when and how the Spirit of God 
determineth. I neither feel call of duty, nor inward motion, 
to pray for the man whom thou callest king. 

Claverhouse. The man indeed ! manifest traitor that 
you are. 

Bro'vvn. I owe James Stuart no allegiance. Unto me 
the tyrant and antichristian cannot be king, although by 
force of circumstances he many have usurped the throne 
of the land wherein I dwell. 

Claverhouse. Enough, brood of Satan ! What punish- 
ment were sufficient for such a villainous rebel ? You have 
sealed your own doom ; you shall die within a few minutes. 

Brown. So be it as to God seemeth meet ! But mark me : 
lam no rebel, even against the lawless and unchristian au- 
thorities of the time. I have had no light to join in active 
resistance as mauy have done. Besides mine own calling 
as a shepherd and tiller of the ground, a sense of duty hath 
led me only to teach, instruct, and admonish the young, 
and to minister such comforts as mine own experience 
enabled me to the sick and dying. Thus have I humbly 
sought to do my generation work in the Church and com- 
monwealth. Beyond this circle have I never walked ; and 



THE MARTYK OF PRIESTHILL. 159 

though willing and rejoicing to die, if it be God's time, and 
for His honour, I protest that I die not for rebellion, con- 
fusion, bloodshed, or any violent act. 

Claverhouse. I come to execute sentence of death, not 
to hear a morning lecture. I shall be better to you than 
you deserve, and allow you to go down and see your family 
before you suffer punishment for your proclaimed and 
obstinate treason. Soldiers! advance with. the prisoner. 



Scene V. — Cottage of Priesthill ; little Janet, who has been at the door, runs in to 
her mother in great terror. 

Little Janet. O mother ! motlier I what a troop of soldiers 
Are coming down, and father in the midst ! 

Isabel. 'Tis come, the thing that I so long have feared : 
Oh for the grace to grapple with this hour ! 

{Takes up the infant from the cradle.^ 

My boy ! my boy ! mj'^ fatherless ! 

(Bushes out with the infant in her arm, and leading Janet by 
the hand. 



Scene VI.— Bank before the cottage ; Brown in front of the troops ; Claverhouse- 
near him ; his wife and children come forward. 

Brown. Isabel ! this is the day I spake of. 
When in thy father's house at Sorn I sought 
Th}'^ hand in marriage. 
I told thee then what now is come to pass! 
You see me summoned shortly to appear 
Before the Court of Heaven : another witness, 
With testimony sealed in mine own blood, 
Ao^ainst the rulers of this land. The call 



160 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

Is instant. I must take the yawning pass 
Even at a bound : brief time for leave-taking, 
Or the weighty and the solemn things 
Which the departing spirit fain would say. 
Isabel! (looks at her with great anxiety) 
Art thou then willing that we part? 

Isabel (taking him by the hand, and raising both their hands 
to'wards heaven) 

Jesus! look down, 
Behold thine handmaid offers unto Thee 
This priceless jewel of her life, beyond 
All reckoning rich and dear! 

Brown. Then, Answerer of Prayers, my v,oice is heard ! 
This, this is all I wait for. Not a cloud 
Or speck hangs on my parting hour, but bright 
As May's first sun, the path before me shines. 

Claverhouse. Go to thy prayers : the morning wears apace. 

Brown. I thank thee that thou dost not cut me off, 
As thy authority might well avouch. 
Even at one sweep; but giv'st me time for prayer. 
That I may gird my loins and trim my lamp. 
Ere I go down into the darksome vale : 
The vale of shadows called, but pathway rather 
Unto the only true realities : 
Where shadow broods no more nor any darkness, 
But all things have their end, and God shines forth. 
Final and manifest in all His works! 

Cannon (aside). Most wonderful, that he of such reserved 
And maiden bashful ways, who always shrank 
From strangers and great throngs of people. 
And from a constant lowliness of mind, 



THE MARTYR OF PRIESTHILL. 161 

Did stammer in his speech, speaks now with boldness, 

And with a ready and commanding utterance, 

As if he were the general of these troops, 

Xot their poor prisoner — and woe's me ! my victim ! 

Angels are near, his ministering servants : 

Whilst I, sold to the devil! feel through my brain. 

And through my limbs, a freezing dizziness, 

As if a curse were cleaving to my bones. 

Could I undo 
The fatal knot which yesternight I twisted! 
Or that the earth would crush me, ne'er to rise ! 

Brown (lo/io has been standing for some time in silent thovalit. 
kneels down to pray. His icife and children kneel beside him) — 

" Eternal One! Holy and Ever-blessed! 
Inhabiting the high and. holy place! 
Who with Thy glory fillest earth and heaven. 
And boldest all things in Thine infinite hand, 
And rulest all by Thine almighty will! 
Angels and men, creatures and substances 
In every place and state, are but Thy servants, 
And at Thy bidding move, or are at rest. 
All living things are Thine. The dying also 
And the dead are Thine. 

"Father of mercies! 

God of all comfort! unto Thee I come! 
To Thee my closing eyes look up ! To Thee 
My soul, about to quit this tabernacle, 
And pass into the far and unknown path, 
Lifts up its supplications ere it iElies ! 
For Thou alone canst guide me through this gloom, 
Where creature unto creature can no more 
11 



162 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

Give help or passage ! 

" Unto Thee I come! 
And rest upon Thy promises, and take 
Thee as my covenant God in Christ. All hope, 
All other refuge I disclaim, and cling 
With simple faith unto the uplifted Cross I 
Hide not Thy countenance, nor take away 
Thy Holy Spirit, promised Comforter, 
Eternal Dove from the Redeeming Ark, 
Bearing the olive-branch to drowning souls. 
And tidings that the flood is overpast! 

" Oh, may the death 
Which now awaits me, as a mustard -seed. 
Small in itself, and weak, nursed by Thy grace. 
Spring m due season from beneath the clod, 
And bud, and cast forth fruit, though but a handful, 
In honor of Thy blessed name and cause! 
And, Lord! Thy Church and people in this land, 
Oh, visit them, and listen to their cry! 
Build up our Zion's walls and on her towers 
Be Thou the glory!" 

Claverhouse. Tush with thy babbling! thou hadst leave to 
pray. 
But not to preach. Done with thy sermonising! 

Brown. Thou knowest not what preaching is, or prayer, 
If this thou callest preaching. 

Bear with me 
For a short space. My tongue shall soon be sealed 
In silence of the dead, never again 
To jar upon thine ear, or man's. 
Then suffer me, thus called so suddenly, 



THE MARTYR OF PRIESTHILL. 163 

Before the great tribunal, here to spread, 
In imine own way, though barbarous unto thee. 
My supplications and my wrestling thoughts 
Before the Lord who is to be my Judge, 
In whom I also trust as my Eedeemer. 
Mine is the great part in this morning's work ; 
Bear with me, for my soul is in its throes. 
And in the travail of the immortal birth I 
Claverhouse. Death and ten thousand furiosi dost thou 
play 
Conventieler with me? (Aside.) The soldiers melt; 
This praying must be stopped. You three in front. 
File out, and instantly despatch the prisoner? 

(The soJdiers do not move or obey the order.) 

Brown. {Still kneeling.) 
" O son of Man, who stand'st at the right hand 
Of God! rend Thou the heavens, come down. Receive 
My parting spirit, which now is lost in love, 
In beatific love! Amen! Amen!" 

{Ilises and goes forward to his family.) 
Isabel, farewell ! Thou know'st where comfort is : 
One in the Lord, an higher union waits us! 
My sweet, unconscious, smiling babe! one kiss! {Kisses him.) 
In malice be a babe, a man in Christ! 
My daughter! be thou faithful to thy mother. 
As thou hast ever been, and serve the Lord : 
As thy years ripen, may thy graces grow^! 

{He hangs over them and weeps, then suddenly checks 
himself, and wal'i:s apart.) 
Blessed, OHoly Spirit, be Thou! that speak'st 
More comfort to my heart than speaks the voice 



1G4 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

Of my oppressors' terror to my ears. 

1st. Soldier, (7n a low hroTcen voice.) 
"lis work for butchers this, and not for soldiers. 
I'd sooner dip my hands in burning brimstone, 
Than in such innocent blood. My conscience stings me. 

Soldiers. {A munmir through the whole troopf^.) 
So say we all. 

Claverhouse. What, curs! vile mongrels I do ye whinge, 
and cower, 
And change your colour at a Whiggish rant. 
At old sing-songs learn'd at Conventicles? 
{Aside.) What! knitting their brows! upon the very verge 
Of mutiny ! 'tis time to end this business. 

{Draws a large pistol from his belt, and preseiUs it at 
Bro'wn.) 

Die in thy folly, rebel! peasant slave! 

{Fires; Broicn instantly falls; his wife, with a piercing 
shriek, falls upon the body; the troops hurry off, with 
horror depicted upon their countenances; Clarrrhovse 
remains, looking on the scene with affected indifference 
and contempt.) 

Claverhouse. Woman! what think'st thou of thy husband 



Isabel. {Raising herself from the body.) 
Much did I always think of him, but more 
Than ever now, when, from an humble state. 
The Lord hath chosen him to be a witness, 
Even unto death, for His own cause and kingdom. 

Claverhouse. 'Twere a good deed to lay thee by his side. 

Isabel. And so thou wouldst, were it permitted thee! 



THE MARTYR OF PRIESTHILL. 165 

But canst not do what hath not been decreed. 
But you! how will you answer for this work? 

Claverhodse. To man I'll answer; asfor God, I'll take Him 
Into mine own hand, So much for gossip! 

{Claverhouse rides off; tJie ividow wraps her 
plaid over the mangled body, gathers her 
children around her and sits down and 
weeps. A short time having elapsed, there 
arrives on the spot old Christian Steel, 
from the Cummerhead, " that singular 
godly and Christian woman," who comes 
up to the mourners and throws her arms 
around them.) 
Christian. O Isabel! and is thy master taken, 

And from thy head removed this day? and hath 

He won the martyr's crown, which ever shines 

The brightest mid the diadems of heaven? 

And hath the Lord espoused thee to Himself, 

Adopting all thy children? In one day, 

How great the loss, but greater the exchange ! 

iSTo wonder that thou sittest on the ground, 

Gazing on earth and heaven, and telling them, 

" See what the Lord hath wrought! Holy His name!" 

Arise, my daughter! and dry up thy tears. 

{Raising her, and still keeping her arms around her. 

Enough of lamentation for the dead, 

Whose death hath been a triumph, and whose triumph 

Shall never fade. Enough of lamentation ! 

But for a moment hath the Lord forsaken, 

With tenderest mercies will He gather thee. 

Arise, my daughter! my fair children, rise! 



166 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

Large is your need, but Grace hath large supplies. 
Deepl}^ the creature yearneth, but not more 
Than may be filled at heaven's unbounded store. 

This cottage henceforth shall a Bethel be, 
An angel spot, which men will come to see 
From the far lands, and as they see will say, 
" The just man's memory passeth not awaj' I" 
The martyr of Priesthill shall be a name, 
In cloudiest times, to kindle Scotland's flame. 
A sample of her ancient chosen seed, 
Stedfast to truth, and strong in word and deed. 
He liveth by faith, and faith lived in its fruit, 
The harvest showed the richness of the root: 
His soul serene in Nature's dying strife, 
Faithful to death, he won the crown of Life!" 



THE CHRISTIAN EXILE. 167 



THE CHRISTIAN EXILE. 

[Alexander Smith was, previous to the KestoratioD, 
minister of Colvend, lying on the Solway. By the Act 
1662, he was, with many hundreds ofhis brethren, ejected 
from his charge. Still continuing the exercise of his minis- 
try, which was then a crime, he was summoned before the 
High Commission Court. Sharpe was present ; and Smith, 
in speaking to him merely styled him Sir. On being ask- 
ed by the Earl of Rothes if he knew whom he was address- 
ing, he replied, with a simplicity more pungent than the 
most laboured satire, "Yes, my Lord : I speak to Mr. James 
Sharpe, once a fellow-minister with myself." Chiefly, it 
may be supposed, for this heinous offense, he was banished 
to the Shetland Islands. "For four years,' ' says Wodrow, 
" he lived alone in a wild desolate island, in a very miser- 
able plight ; he had nothing but barley for his bread, and 
his fuel to prepare, it was sea-tangle and wreck, and he had 
no more to preserve his miserable life." He was recalled, 
only to be again banished to the Orkneys ; and, no further 
trace remaining of him, it may be concluded that he there 



168 POETRY OF THE COA^ENANT. 

fell a sacrifice, at once to the rage of bis persecutors and 
his own lofty and devoted heroism. 

The poem is an attempt to bring out something of that 
struggle of emotions, natural to one in his situation, and to 
evince the triumph of faith which he so gloriously achiev- 
ed. Criffel is a lofty mountain in Galloway, commanding 
a splendid view of the Solway Firth. Urr is a river that 
issues from a loch of the same name, and falls into the firth 
near the small island of Heston.] 



Scene. — Shetland. Winter of 1664. The exile discovered upon a rock at the sea- 
side, reading in Romans, chap. viii. ver. 28, to the end. Tiie Evil Spirit 
near him, but invisible. 



THE EXILE. 

{Reads.) " We know that all things work together for 
good to them that love God, to them who are the called 
according to his purpose. For whom he did foreknow he 
also did predestinate to be conformed to the image of his 
Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brethren. 
Moreover, whom he did predestinate, them he also called ; 
and whom he called, them he also justified ; and whom he 
justified, them he also glorified. What shall we then say 
to these things ? If God be for us, who can be against us ? 
He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up 
for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all 
things?" 

EVIL SPIRIT. 

'Tvvas sweet upon the Criffel, 
When the summer winds were still, 

And golden streams of sunset 
Came floatino- o'er the hill ! 



THE CHRISTIAN EXILE. 169 

•Twas sweet, from off the Criffel 

To gaze across the foam ; 
Then glide into the valley, 

Where stood thy peaceful home. 

THE EXILE. 

Ah, fond deceitful heart! why dost thou roam? 
Where God appoints thee, is not that thy home? 
Nature would chain us to some loved spot; 
Grace makes the heart yield gently to the lot. 
On wends the pilgrim, rough or smooth his- way, 
For earth hath nought to charm him, or dismay. 
From every shore, and under every zone, 
Straight is the passage to my Father's throne : 
In life, in death, my great Redeemer lives. 
And mine the all things which He freely gives. 

{Reads.) " Who shall L^y anything to the charge of God's 
elect? It is God that jnstifieth. Who is he that con- 
demneth? It is Christ that died, yea, rather, that is risen 
again, who is even at the right hand of God, who also 
maketh intercession for us." 

EVIL SPIRIT. 

Dost hear the Urr ? What music 

It murmurs to the dell, 
Where thy children merrily sported, 

Where all thy people dwell ! 
Nor wife nor child is near thee. 

Thou pinest in hopeless woe: 
Thy home is on the ocean-clift, 



170 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

Where the wintry tempests blow, 
Where the wild waves roll in thunder 
Up the rock-girt Ronas Voe! 

THE EXILE. 

Hush, ye rebellious thoughts that madly stir! 

Hark to the voice of Heaven's own messenger, 

" Who shall accuse the elect? Who shall condemn?" 

No weapon that is formed can injure them : 

Theirs is the helmet which no blow can pierce, 

Theirs the great spell that binds the universe. 

Then howl, ye tempests! rave along the steep, 

The peace within lulls all these storms asleep. 

Earth! yield no food. Sky ! with thick darkness frown. 

Rich is heaven's manna, bright the eternal crown. 

Wife! I have loved, and love thee! Children! take 

These tears shed sadly, fondly for your sake: 

Our griefs shall knit us faster, and the love. 

Divided here, shall purer burn above. 

Exile from home. I still am nigh to God, 

And death but leads me to His blest abode: 

They only reap who faint not in the furrow, 

They shall return with joy who sow in sorrow! 

(Beads.) " Who shall separate us from the love of Christ ? 
Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or 
nakedness, or peril, or sword ? (As it is written, For thy 
sake we are killed all the day long ; we are accounted as 
sheep for the slaughter.) Nay, in all these things we are 
more than conquerors through him that loved us." 



THE CHRISTIAN EXILE. 171 

EVIL SPIRIT. 

'Tis but a drop from the inkhorn, 

Thou Shalt be free once more ! 
And the Sol way sound thy welcome 

From this waste and howling shore ! 
Thy God hath thee forsaken 

Afar amidst the sea : 
Why suffer in His service 

Who cares no jot for thee? 

THE EXILE. 

Get thee behind me, Satan! now I know 

'Tis thou, vile serpent! that dost wound me so; 

But though a breath could waft me hence, that breath 

Shall ne'er be drawn by me : Exile and death 

Are light: Sin is the only fearful thing. 

Thou hast not cast me off, my God! my King! 

Thou that didst shine in Patmos, Thou dost shine 

Even on a heart so poor, so cold as mine ! 

These towering rocks are Ebenezers, reared 

To mark where Thou hast graciousl)' appeared 

To strengthen my weak soul : these waves that roar 

In mighty majesty along the shore. 

The sound of many waters that attend 

Thy goings forth. In awe, in faith I bend. 

Earth dwindles; time and sin and death are past; 

Alpha and Omega! Thou first, Thou last. 

Thou Ever-Living One, that reign'st above! 

Oh for an angel's harp to sound Thy love! 

(Reads.) " For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor 



172 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

life, Dor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things 
present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any 
other creature, shall be able to separate iis from the love of 
God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord !" 



A. 15. T01)l>. 173 



A. B. TODD, 

AUTHOR OF "HOMES, HAUNTS, AND BATTLE- 
FIELDS OF THE COVENANTERS/' 

[From personal knowledge and from information thrcugli 
others who knew Mr. Todd well, but maiulj^ from a volur. e 
entitled "Recent and Living Scottish Poets,'' edited by 
Alex. G. Murdoch, we have derived the following sketch.] 

Adam B. Todd was born on the farm-ground of Craig- 
hall, in the parish of Mauchline, at the close of the first 
quarter of the century. His staunch old Cameronian father 
held that farm for a period of twenty-nine years from tlie 
Duke of Portland. His mother (Mary Gibb) wasanati^e 
of Auchmillan, in the parish of Mauchline. She was a 
devoutly pious woman, and possessing a remarkable mem- 
ory, joined to a love of old ballads and lyrics, could rej eat 
more of these floating relics of Scottish minstrelsy than are 
to be found in ordinary collections. Mr. Todd's love for 
his mother has always been an inspiration, and in his poem 
of "The Circling Year'' he has embalmed her beloved 
memory in some fifty lines entirely worthy of the beautiful 



174 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

and inspiring theme. Being one of a large family, and his 
father's farm being but small, our poet had to lend his 
services to others, working successively in the parishes of 
Sorn, Kilmarnock, and Fenwick. His school education 
had all along been irregular, but he was an early and 
omnivorous reader of books, wherever to be found. He 
had an instinct for foraging up odd volumes from unlikely 
quarters, and wherever resident he managed successfully to 
disinter from obscure and cob-webbed corners odd volumes 
of history, biography, and travel. He inherits from his 
revered mother a most retentive and capacious memory, 
and can repeat till this day the Psalms of David entire. 

Disliking the monotony of country service, he engaged 
himself, while still a youth, at a tile works in Galston. He 
afterwards, in 1843, transferred his services to a similar 
manufactory in Wigtownshire. And here, having fair 
leisure at his disposal, he first began to express his thoughts 
in verse. In 1844 he removed to Wellhill Tile Works, 
ill the parish of New Cumnock, the works ultimately pass- 
ing into his own hands. In 1846 appeared his first volume, 
which was received by the press generally as evidencing 
much promise rather than as showing accomplished work. 
In 1874 be edited an interesting poem, written by John 
Johnston, a surviving Trafalgar veteran, for whom, unaided, 
he had nobly striven, securing for him an annual Govern- 
ment pension of £27 7s. 

In 1876 Mr. Todd published a volume of " Poems, 
Lectures, and Miscellanies." The volume was generously 
praised by the press, and received the special commenda- 
tion of the late Rev. George Gilfillan. In 1880 appeared 
' ' The Circling Year,' ' a lengthy poem, descriptive of 
country life and the changing aspects of nature in each 



A. B. TODD. 175 

successive month of the year. Under the tittle " Martyr- 
land in August" we give the portion of this poem which 
pertains to that month of the " Circling Year," and which 
contains the tribute to his mother already noticed. This 
volume, replete as it is with high thought and verbal elo- 
quence, discovers Mr. Todd to be a close observer of nature 
in all her varied hues and forms. His verse is flowine- 

o 

and harmonious, and he unites to a natural grace and elo- 
quence of expression a simplicity and pathos such as not 
a few poets of wider fame cannot command. He has all 
the versatility of true genius, and is an eloquent and fluent 
prose writer, as well as an observant and fertile poet. 

From early youth Mr. Todd became conversant with 
the gi-eat covenanting struggle in Scotland during the reigns 
of the two kings, Charles First and Charles Second, and 
of that also of the cruel and stolid James ^Second. He was 
a great admirer of those heroic and undaunted efforts made 
by the Covenanters, to resist these tyrants, and to secure 
for themselves, and their descendants, the blessings of that 
civil and religious freedom which, with the Puritans of 
England, they ultimately won for the nation, and which 
has since been of such inestimable value to the whole 
English speaking race all over the world. Mr. Todd, there- 
fore, in 1886, published a volume on the subject so dear to 
his heart, entitled "Homes, Haunts, and Battlefields of 
the Covenanters," which won the praises of all the best 
press authorities, Mr. Spurgeon giving it highest praise in 
his " Sword and Trowel. ' ' A second volume appeared two 
years after, and was equally successful, Mr. Spurgeon not 
only again giving it liberal praise in his periodical, but 
writing a letter to the author in commendation of it. Mr. 
Todd has a third volume nearly ready for the press ; a sec 



17() rOETS OF THE COVENANT. 

Olid edition of the two earlier volumes is much called for, 
they having been long out of print. He has also a col- 
lected edition of his poems, with an autobiography, ready 
for the press, and which will be issued very soon. He 
meditates, if spared, going over the whole of the covenant- 
ing field in his native land, which will extend the work to 
four or five volumes, thus making the W'Ork a truly na- 
tional one. As yet he feels not in the least the burden of 
years, his step being as firm and his arm as strong as 
were those of that noble and heroic Bible character, Caleb 
the son Jephunneh, when fourscore and five years old. 
As strong as he was forty-five years before, he thus sjieaks 
of himself: " As yet I am as strong this day as I Avas in the 
day that Moses sent me ; as my strength was then, even so 
is my strength now, for war, both to go out and to come 
in." In this way also, Ave know^, Mr. Todd both speaks 
and feels, not vauntingly, but grateful to God for this, and 
all His other goodness. The editor of this volume remem- 
bers with deepest pleasure a visit to Airsmoss and Canier- 
ion's stone with Mr. Todd in the summer of 1892. Tramp- 
ing across the stretch of desolate moor between the road 
and the monument, in the drenching storm, the visitors saw, 
as no bright sunshine and clear atmosphere could have 
brought out the scene, 

" The moorland of mist where the martyrs laj' ," 

while with the vigor and fire of youth Mr. Todd describ- 
ed the conflict in which Cameron and his brother and others 
of that little heroic band won the martyr's crown. 



PKDEN S (JUAVK 177 



LINES ON FEDEX 'THE rilOPHErS" GIUVE. 



Where mellow'd coines the din. 
Up from the marts of trade, which drown 

All softer sounds within ; 
Where balmy summer breezes play 

From out the glowing west, 
Or where the wintry tempests bray, 

Till, spent, they sink to rest; 
Beneath two aged, hallo w'd thorns, 

Sleeps Fed en good and brave. 
Where, now. tit monument adorns 

The grand old prophet's grave. 

His second grave it is, for long 

His persecutors prowled 
O'er bleak moor and through darksome glen 

(Though Heaven in anger scowled), 
To shed his blood with those who stood 

For conscience and for right. 
They searched the cave, high o'er the flood. 
12 



178 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

With torches in the night. 
They searched his brother's dwelling through, 

But God protection gave, 
And will'd that his dear saint should go 

Down to a bloodless grave. 

At early dawn, all silently, 

That hasty grave was made. 
Which had grown green at Auchinleck, 

When it his foes invade, 
And bore his corse with fiendish glee, 

Away to Cumnock town, 
To hang it on the gallows tree, 

Which there did grimly frown. 
But woman's pleading voice prevailed 

The indignity to save. 
Though at the gallows' foot was made 

Old Peden's second grave. 

These evil times have pass'd away ; 

The war- trump and the drum. 
The clash of arms, the battle-bray 

'Mong Scotia's hills are dumb. 
And since not now our necks are bent 

To tyrants and the sword, 
We owe it all to those who stood 

And battled for the Lord. 
And long will patriots drop the tear 

Which pity aye will crave. 
From those who come from far and near 

To visit Peden's grave. 



MAKTYKLANl) IN AUGUST. 179 



MARTYRLAXD IN AUt^UST. 

'Tis now the busy, bounteous, autumn time, 
The months move round, the year is in its prime ; 
The August breezes bend the ripening grain^ 
And lightly play along the rippling main ; 
The giant trees, through all the forest green, 
Wave in the sultry winds with languid mein ; 
The bluebells kiss the streamlets as they flow, 
Laughing and tinkling, as they gladly go 
To join the rivers, sweeping to the sea. 
Like travellers to the far eternity. 

Oft, William, brother, have we traced some stream. 
When golden August gave its gladsome gleam ; 
Threaded the forest, climbed the breez}^ hill. 
And plucked the harebells by the mountain rill; 
On shelving rock, by musical cascade, 
A fragrant seat upon the wild thyme made ; 
With raptured eye there view'd the rainbow's rim. 
Spanning the vales between the mountains dim ; 
Travers'd the moors, where bloom'd theheatherbell 



180 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

O'er honey treasure, in the wild bee's cell; 
And far down in sweet Lugar's lovely glen, 
Made Israel's Psalms roll on the breeze again ; 
Or ring within the Covenanter's cave 
(Whose time-worn steps the living waters lave), 
And thought of Peden, and his weary life. 
True to his God 'mid scoffers, blood, and strife; 
Who, when day dawn'd came here with weary feet 
Unmurmuringly, and sought this lone retreat; 
Chanting these strains, which Jadah's King of old 
Harp'd to his God in Engedi's stronghold, — 
'' Thou art my hiding place, and thou shalt me 
From trouble keep, from danger set me free." 
Wrestling with God, he pass'd the hours away, 
While his wrapt eye pierced the far future day; 
Then, when on earth the darkness settled down. 
And thunderclouds clos'd in with awful frown, 
Grasping his staff, when storm blasts whistled shrill. 
And nimble lightnings play'd around the hill, 
Would hie him far to some lone desert place, 
Known only to the persecuted race; 
And there with winning words would point the way 
To peace and rest, beyond life's troubled day ; 
Yet show how wicked men, and foes of God, 
To ruin rush'd by manj'' an evil road. 

O say not now, when liberty is ours. 
And we sit safely in our peaceful bowers, 
That these, our fathers, who for freedom fought, 
And with their lives our liberties have bought. 
Were bigots, and like fools wrought their own death. 
And for mere trifles yielded up their breath. 



MARTYRLANl) IN AUGUST. 181 

In things divine they nobly would but own 
Messiah on His universal throne. 
To earthly king they render'd what vvas his, 
And to heaven's Lord would not give less than this. 
They bought our freedom with their flowing blood. 
When the}'' the tyrant's cruel laws withstood. 
These moors oft echoed with tlie martyr's moans, 
Xow studded with their monumental stones; 
While, blazon'd on our history's brightest page, 
Their fame shall flourish on to latest age. 

Oft when the bracing August breezes blew, 
We trode the wilds and track'd the valleys through; 
On dizzy heights admir'd the rowans grow. 
The clusters mirror'd in the flood below. 
Where the glad stream. in glassy pools would stay 
A little while, then sing its seaward way. 
Oft have we linger'd in some upland glen 
(The favourite haunt of nature-loving men), 
When cooling breezes play'd along the stream. 
Bright in the setting sun's last flick'ring beam ; 
When winds grew hush'd, and umber'd trees stood still. 
As gloaming grey crept o'er the eastern hill ; 
And merry reapers, busy since the morn. 
With jocund laugh hied homeward through the corn. 
As shone the moon, fair smiling up the east, 
And the tall pine trees seem'd in silver dress'd ; 
And stars peep'd forth in the blue vault above, 
Like angels looking down in silent love ; 
And earth seem'd answering up in melting song 
Of living streams, which sighed and sung along. 



IS'2 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

O joj^ous August! treas'j.re of the year I 
I love thee, though thou tell'st of winter near. 
Once more I feel myself a boy again, 
Heaping with yellow sheaves the groaning wain ; 
A bright girl cooing round me like a dove, 
My heart first fluttering at the touch of love. 
That sweet-ton'd voice, ev'n now I seem to hear, 
Still sounding sweeter as life's close draws near. 
Her rosj^ lips, I see, and dimpled chin; 
Her small round mouth, with faultless teeth within; 
Her raven tresses round her shining brow, 
Her bright blue eyes (they beam upon me now!) 
Her heaving breast tempting as Eden's fruit; 
Her slender waist; her small and pretty foot; 
All brought a swimming sense upon my brain, 
And made my blood career through every vein. 
A boy no more; love-lifted, I began 
A new life then — in love, a full-grown man! 

O! first found, deepest, all unequaFd love! 
Though long our lives, and widely though we rove; 
Though beauty's fairest daughters flutter round 
The paths we tread, warming the dull cold ground ; 
The soul no more, in their bright dazzling glow, 
Flames as when first love's pulse began to go. 
That nameless thrill it sends through all the heart, 
Is ne'er forgotten, nor can quite depart. 

But August calls up other thoughts than love — 
Thoughts which make all my inmost spirit move. 
Whene'er I see the reapers in the corn, 
Memory brings back that sorrow-laden morn. 



MARTYKLAND IN AUGUST. 183 

When Death, the dull destroyer, aiin'd his dart 

Not at my own, but at a Mother's heart. 

Fair rose the sun, the day was calm and clear; 

All calmly too, she knew the last foe near. 

The golden beams played round her dying bed, 

Bathing in light of heav'n her reverend head. 

Closer the spoiler came, his icy breath 

She felt, yet calmly whisper'd, " This is death." 

In holy Psalm she spoke that inward peace 

Which grew and brightened with her strength's decrease — 

"Extol the Lord with me, and let us all 

Exalt His name; He heard me at my call. 

The angel of the Lord encamps around 

His saints, and they deliverance have found. 

O, taste with me, and see that God is good; 

Who trusts in Him shall not lack heav'nly food; 

The eyes of God are on the just, His ears 

Are ever open, and their cry He hears ; 

His servants' souls the Lord redeemeth ever, 

And He His saints will leave forsaken never." 

With radiant countenance she pass'd away; 
That, left behind, was only breathless clay. 
Fast fell our tears, but for ourselves they flow'd, 
And her lov'd guidance on life's perilous road; 
Her wise words spoken, and her cheering smile ; 
Her gentle winning ways, all free from guile. 
The light which ever lighten'd her own way 
Show'd us the right, when lur'd to step astray. 

We leave thee, mother, in the Saviour's smile ; 
And hope to meet thee in some after while. 



184 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

O, for thy faith, and hope, and holy will; 
Thy brave lar^e heart, under each worldly il 
That we may go, life's constant battle b}'', 
To join thee waiting for ns in the sky. 



JOHN STUART BLACKIE. 185 



JOHN STUART BLACKIE. 

The learned and poetical Emeritus Professor of Greek 
in Edinburgh University, was born in Glasgow on the 28th 
July, 1809. His father, a banker, removed to Aberdeen, 
when his afterwards famous son was very young. He was 
educated first at a private school, and when only in his 
twelfth year he entered the famous Marischal College, re- 
maining there four years. He afterwards studied at the 
University of Edinburgh and then at those of Goetting- 
en and Berlin in Germany. Keturning to Scotland he 
studied law, and was called to the bar in 1834. Poetry, 
however, was a more congenial field for his imaginative 
mind, and he translated " Faust" into spirited verse. In 
1841 he was appointed Humanity Professor of his old Aber- 
deen College, remaining there eleven years. In 1852 he was 
elected to the Greek chair in the Edinburgh University, 
wdiich he retained till a few years ago, when he retired 
with honour and fame. His published works are both 
numerous and excellent. His translation of Homer's Iliad 
is alike spirited and faithful, and is looked upon by many 
as his most meritorious work. In 1 857 he published " Lays 



186 rOETS OF THE COVENANT. 

and Legends of Ancient Greece and Other Poems ;" in 
1860, " Lyrical poems ;" in 1872, " Lays of the Highlands 
and Islands ;" and in 1886, " Messis Vitae: Gleanings of 
Song from a Happy Life." While in the interval, numer- 
ous prose works proceeded from his pen, and although then 
in his 78th year, the last named volume is as fresh and as 
redolent with genius as any of them all. To establish and 
endow a Celtic chair, he raised fully seven thousand pounds ; 
and though now in the 85th "year of his age, he still con- 
tinues to write, lecture, and sing his own inimitable song 
of Jenny Geddes, of how with her stool she put to rout the 
Popish Dean and his supporters when he proceeded to 
read the liturgy of Laud in her hearing. 

As a poet, a patriot, and a Christian gentleman. Pro- 
fessor Blackie is alike famous, and admired, and beloved; 
and all who know him, or are acquainted with his writings 
and long and useful life, pray in the lines of Wordsworth, 

'^ That an old age serene and bright 
And lovely as a Lapland niojht 
May bear him to his grave.'" 

A warm defender of the noble stand taken by the Cove- 
nanters against the perjured tyrants and persecutors of 
those evil times, he has written numerous poems, songs, and 
ballads in their praise. " Peden, the Prophet," in his last 
volume, is too lengthy for quotation, but we give a noble 
sonnet on that old seer, "written," as he tells us, "at his 
grave under the twin thorn trees, Cumnock," and three 
other poems on the Covenanters and Martyrs of Scotland. 



ALEXAN1>ER PEDEN. 187 



SONNET ON ALEXANDER PEDEN. 

Here let me stand beneath the sacred shade 
Of these twin thorns that shield a prophet's hones! 
I have stood high on monumental stones, 
Where Memphian Kings august made grand parade, 
Not moved as here. My loves are with the braves 
Who stand erect for freedom and for right, 
When rampant pride, harsh law and sworded miglit 
Would crush out thought, and stamp all men for slnvc 
And such was Peden. In the day when Kings 
Claimed right divine to murder honest men, 
And venal bishops flapped their vulture wings 

O'er God's dear saints, hunted from glen to glen, 
Peden stood firm, and to his faith then shown 
We owe that now we call our souls our own. 



188 - POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 



THE COVENANTER'S LA3IENT. 

waly waly up the glen, 

Arid waly waly o'er the moor! 
The land is full of bloody men, 

Who hunt to death the friendless poor! 
We brook the rule of robbers wild : 

They tear the son from his father's lands, 
They tear the mother from her child. 

They tear the Bible from our hands! 

Last night, as I eame o'er the moor 
And stood upon the grey hill crown, 

1 saw the red flames rise wi' power 
Frae the lone house o' Alik Brown. 

The godless grim dragoons were there, 
And Clavers spake, that swearing loon, 

So burn the nest, so smoke the lair 
Of all that dare to think wi' Brown!'' 

O blessed Lord, who rul'st in heaven. 
Who preached Thy gospel to the poor. 



THE covenanter's LAMENT. 189 

How long shall thy best friends be driven 
Like hunted hares from moor to moor? 

Arise, O Lord, Thy saints deliver. 
This land from ruthless despots free! 

"Xeath wintry skies we sit and shiver, 
But times of o^ladness come from Thee. 



100 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 



ELEtfY ON THE DEATH OF JAMES REIN WICK. 

Weep, Scotland, weep! Thy hills are sad to-day. 
But not with mist or rack that skirs the sky. 

The violent rule ; the godless man holds sway ; 
The young, the pure, the innocent must die I 

Weep, Scotland, weep! Thy moors are sad to-day, 
Thy plaided people walk with tearful eye. 

For why? He dies upon a gallows-tree 

Who boldly blew God's trump for Freedom and for thee ! 

'Tis a known tale; it hath been so of old, 

And will be so again ; yet must we weep ! 
High on red thrones the blushless and the bold 

Hold state ; the meek are bound in dungeons deep. 
Wolves watch the pen ; the lion robs the fold, 

While on soft down the hireling shepherds sleep. 
God's holy church becomes a mart where lies 
Pass free from knave to fool, but Christ's true prophet di( s. 

A youth was Ren wick, gentle, fair, and fine; 
In aspect meek, but firm as rock in soul ; 



ELEGY ON JAMES KEN WICK. 191 

By pious parents nursed, and holy line, 

To steer by truth, as seamen by the pole. 
In Holland's learned halls the word divine 

He read, which to proclaim he made the whole 
Theme of his life; then back to Scotland came, 
At danger's call, to preach in blessed Jesus' name. 

They watched his coming, and the coast with spies 
Planted to trap him ; but he 'scaped their snare. 

To the brown hills and glens of Kyle he hies. 
And with a steadfast few finds refuge there. 

On the black bogs, and 'neath the inclement skies, 
In rocky caves, on mist- wreathed mountains bare. 

The youthful prophet voiced God's tidings good. 

As free as Baptist John by Jordan's sacred flood. 

Fierce fumed the ruthless king. By statute law, 

To sing God's praise upon the purple hill 
Was treason. Courtly slaves with envy saw 

One unbought soul assert a manly will, 
And with his own hands from those fountains draw. 

Which sophists troubled with pretentious skill 
To make them clearer; as if God's own plan 
For fining human dross must beg a stamp from man ! 

Wide o'er the moors now tramp the red dragoons. 
To hunt God's plaided saints from every nook; 

And from a court of bravos and poltroons 
Goes forth the law which takes the blessed Book 

From the free shepherd's hands, that hireling loons 
May spell it to a sense that kings may brook. 



192 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

Far raged o'er hill and heath the despot's sword, 

But faithful Renwick preached, and owned no human lord. 

Bold as when Peter in the temple stood 
With John, and at the gate called Beautiful, 

Healed the lame man; and stirred the spiteful mood 
Of priest and high-priest, holding haughty rule ; 

Witless! Who weened that God's apostles should 
With human law and lawyers go to school : 

So boldly Renwick stood ; and undismayed 

With firm, unfaltering faith, God and not man obeyed. 

And faithful people loved him, From Green Ayr, 
Nithsdale, Glencairn, Sanquhar and founts of Ken, 

Free pilgrim feet o'er perilous pathways fare, 
To hear young Renwick preach in treeless glen; 

And mothers bring their new-born babes, to bear 
Baptismal blessings from his touch; and when 

Fearless he flings the glowing word abroad, 

Full many a noble soul is winged with fire from God. 

Yet must he die ! The fangs of law are keen ; 

False Law, the smooth pretender of the Right, 
That still to knaves a sharp-edged tool hath been, 

To give a fair name to ursurping Might I 
By Law round noble Hamilton, I ween, 

The faggot blazed to feed proud Beaton's spite ; 
And now when Scotland's best to please the Pope 
And Romish James, must die — 'tis Law thas knots the rope ! 

Let loose your hounds, cold-blooded lawyers! pay 
The knave to trap the saint! your work is done, 
Young Renwick falls, to venal spies a prey, 



ELEGY ON JAMES KENWICK. 193 

And lawless Law kills Scotland's fairest son. 
The grey Grassmarket heard him preach to-day, 

On the red scaffold floor. His race is run. 
yow kings and priests, with brave light-hearted joy, 

May drain their cups, nor fear the bold truth-speaking boy 1 

Weep! Scotland, weep! but only for a day ; 

Frail stands the throne whose props are glued with gore ; 
For a short hour the godless man holds sway, 

And Justice whets her knife at Murder's door. 
Weep, Scotland ! but let noble pride this day ' 

Beam through thine eye with sorrow streaming o'er; 
For why? Thy Eenwick 's dead, whose noble crime 
Gave Freedom's trumpet breath, an hour before the time. 



13 



104 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 



THE SONG OF JENNY GEDDES. 

Tune — British Grenadiers. 

Some praise the fair Queen Mary, and some the good Queen 

Bess, 
And some the wise Aspasia, beloved by Pericles ; 
But o'er the world's brave women, there's one that bears the 

rule. 
The valiant Jenny Geddes, that flung the three-legged stool. 
With a ro'cV-dow — at tJiem ?iorv! — Jenny fltifig the stool. 

'Twas the twenty-third of July, in the sixteen thirty-seven. 
On the Sabbath morn from high St. Giles the solemn peal was 

given ; 
King Charles had sworn that Scottish men should pray by 

printed rule; 
He sent a book, but never dreamt of danger from a stool. 
With a roxv-doxv — ycs^ I trotv — thcre^s danger in a stool! 

The Council and the Judges, with ermined pomp elate, 
The Provost and the Bailies in gold and crimson state. 



THE SONG OF JENNY GEDDES. 105 

Fair silken-vested ladies, grave doctors of the school, 

Were there to please the King, and learn the virtues of a stool. 

With a rozv-dozv~yes. I troxv I —there s virtue in a stool ! 

The Bishop and the Dean came in wi' muckle gravity, 
Right smooth and sleek, but lordly pride was lurking in their 

e'e; 
Their full lawn sleeves were blown and big, like seals in 

briny pool ; 
They bore a book, but little thought they soon should feel a 

stool. 
With a row-doxv—yes, I troxv I— they'll feel a three- legired stool I 

The Dean he to the altar went, and, with a solemn look, 

He cast his eyes to heaven, and read the curious-printed 

book: 
In Jenny's heart the blood up welled with bitter anguish full ; 
Sudden she started to her legs, and stoutly grasped the 

stool I 
With a rozv-doiv I— at them fioxu I— firmly grasped the stool I 

As when a mountain wild-cat springs upon a rabbit small, 
So Jenny on the Dean springs, with gush of holy gall; 
Wilt thou say mass at my lugs ^ thou popish-puling fool f 
No! No! she said, and at his head she flung the three-legged 

stool. 
With a rozu-dozu—at them nozv I— Jenny Jiing the stool I 

A bump, a thump ! a smash, a crash ! now gentle folks beware I 
Stool after stool, like rattling hail, came tirling through the 
air. 

With, well done, Jenny! bravo, Jenny! that's the proper 
tool! 



106 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

When the Deil will out, and shows his snout, just meet him 

with a stooll 
JVi^/i a ro'tv-dorv — at them noiv ! — there^ $ nothing like a stool ! 

The Council and the Judges were smitten with strange fear 
The ladies and the Bailies their seats did deftly clear, 
The Bishop and the Dean went in sorrow and in dool, 
And all the Popish flummery fled, when Jenny showed the 

stool! 
IVith a rovj-dorv — at them now ! — yenny shozv the stool ! 

And thus a mighty deed was done by Jenny's valiant hand. 
Black Prelacy and Popery she drove from Scottish land ; 
King Charles he was a shulfling knave, priest Laud a med- 
dling fool, 
But Jenny was a woman wise, who beat them with a stool! 
With a rozv-dovj — yes^ I troxv I — she conquered by a stool !* 



* A few years ago, a tablet was placed in St. Giles Church, Edinburgh 
on which is engraved the following inscription from the pen of the late Lord 
President Inglis : — " At or near this spot, Jenny Geddes, a brave Scottish woman 
by protesting against the introduction of the English Liturgy into this Chui;ch 
laid the foundation of Civil and Religious Liberty for these Islands." 



GEORGE PAULIN. 197 



OEORGE PAULIN. 

This author was born in the village of Horn dean in the 
parish of Ladykirk, Berwickshire, in 1812. Receiving his 
elementary education at the village school, he afterwards 
attended the grammar school of Selkirk, and entered the 
University of Edinburgh in 1832, at which he studied six 
years. For a while thereafter he acted as parish school- 
master at Newlands, PeeWesshire; and Kirknewton, Mid- 
Lothian. In 1844 he was appointed Rector of Irvine 
Academy, Ayrshire, which office he retained till 1877, when 
on his retiring 

" to crown 
A youth of labour with an age of ease," 

his old pupils presented him with a gift of one thousand 
pounds. 

Although Mr. Paulin had long been known as the writer 
of chaste and vigorous verses, and was the honoured and 
esteemed friend and associate of literary men, particularly 
of the renowned Christopher North, yet it was not till 1876 
thiiL he published a volume. It was most favourably re- 



198 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

ceived by the press. His lines flow on with great smooth- 
ness, and so delight the ear ; while their religions fervour 
and patriotic glow tend to purify the affections and animate 
the soul to desires of love and goodness. He has also a 
natural pathos which often moistens the eye, and makes the 
lip quiver with emotion. Although now past the far four- 
score, he still writes for the press, and seems to have lost 
none of his youthful vigour and power. 



THE COVENANTERS. 199 



THE COVENANTERS. 

Can Scotland's son, who, uncontrolled, may climb the heath- 
ery steep, 

Graze scornfully where guards the cairn her martyr's blood- 
bought sleep. 

And say, ' A fanatic lies here;' and, with a pitying smile, 

Descant on mad enthusiasts^the ignorant, the vile? 

Enthusiasts! — by the freeman's step, that treads on Scottish 

strand ; 
By the pure faith that sanctifies the altars of the land; 
By hymns of praise, at morn and eve, unawed bv fear or shame, 
Poured from our peaceful hamlet homes— still honoured be 

the name! 

If on the plains where Wallace fought, the patriot's bosom 

swell. 
And the bold Switzer drops a tear upon the grave of Tell, 
Shall Scotland with irreverent eye behold the wild flowers 

wave 



200 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

Above the mound, once stained with blood, her Covenant he- 
roes' grave? 

They sleep where, in a darker day, by dreary moss and fen. 

Their blood bedewed the wild heath flower, in many a Scot- 
tish glen; 

When forced to flee their humble homes, for Scotland's Cove- 
nant Lord, 

They grasped, to save their holiest rights, the Bible and the 
sword. 

They rest in peace — the enthusiasts I — who unreluctant flung 
To earth the proffered gold, and scorned the lures of courtly 

tongue. 
They rest in peace, who knew no rest when with loud curses 

driven, 
And hunted 'mid the wintry fells, and reft of all but heaven. 

Enthusiasts I — would the proudly wise, who flings his scorn 

and sneer 
On graves and names long hallowed by the patriot's love and 

tear; 
Would he, when gleams in mount and vale, the persecutor's 

brand, 
To quench with blood the altar fires of his own fatherland; 

When all around are fainting hearts and falsehood's hollow 

smile, 
The bloody foe, the traitorous friend, fierce war, and covert 

guile, 
Xo hope on earth, unless he quit the banner of his God, 
A.nd crouch a slave upon the land where his free fathers 

trode — 



THE COVENANTERS. 201 

Would he renounce all earth-born joys, and choose his win- 
try bed 

On howling- heath, with darkness round, and tempest o'er his 
head, 

And, trusting in no arm of flesh, undaunted face the fires, 

The axe, the torture, and the sword, like Scotland's Covenant 
sires? 



202 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 



A VISIT TO PRIESTHILL. 

A gowan and a buttercup 

I plucked from where he stood 
That morn, beside his cottage door, 

Begirt with men of blood, 
A place amid the lonelj'^ hills, 

A moorland solitude. 

There you may trace where walls were once, 

The "hallen and the hearth," 
Where John at eve would lift his soul 

Above the cares of earth, 
And in the page of wisdom read 

RedemiDtion's wondrous birth. 

And there's the little garden plot 

In which, the week toil over, 
On Saturday's sweet eve he'd sit 

And list the lonely plover, 
And watch the sun-warp'd veil of mist 
Gray Wardlaw's summit cover; 



A VISIT TO PRIESTIIILL. 2();{ 

And muse on Him who died to save ; 

Who formed the human soul ; 
Who made the moorland and the hill; 

Who bade the waters roll. 
And then in David's sweetest laj^ 

His might he would extol. 

He knew the mighty God was his, 

Who hears the seraphim; 
He knew the Saviour heard his song, 

And that was all for him ; 
And then his cup of joy was full, 

Was full unto the brim. 

And when the foe came fierce with hate. 

And curses vollej^edfast. 
He stood with all his loved ones near. 

Like oak before the blast ; 
Stood leaning on his covenant God, 

Nor shrank nor looked aghast. 

He knelt, and Clavers' death-shot rang; 

His brains were scattered there ; 
And calmly Isobel Weir bent down, 

With inly breathed-prayer, 
And gathered them while bitter jest 

Rang through the morning air. 

But far above the moorland dim 

John's spirit soared away 
With angel convoy up to heaven. 

As glad and fair as they : 



204 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

The martyr's harp was timed on high 
To a melodious lay. 

And as we mused, my friends and F, 
Upon the tombstone hoary, 

Its record of the martyr times 
And of the Covenant story, 

We on the " light affliction" thought 
And '• endless weiglit of glory.'" 



THE COVENAMT HANNEK. 20.") 



THE COVENANT BANNER. 

lilow softly, 3^e breezes, by mountain and moor. 

O'er the graves of the Covenant men. 
By the muirland and flood that were red with their blood. 

Can ye waft the old watchwords again? 

'' For Scotland and Christ" the breezes of old 

O'er the wilds of the Westland bore, 
From the Lugar and Nith to the Lothian Frith, 

And the German Ocean's shore. 

And where'er they blew, a prayer was breathed 

And a holy psalm was sung ; 
And hands were clasped and the banner grasped 

When the Covenant watchword rung. 

O for the brave true hearts of old, 
That bled when the banner perished ! 
O for the Faith that was strong in death — 
The Faith that our fathers cherished ! 



206 POETRY OF thp: covenant. 

The banner might fall, but the spirit lived, 

And liveth for evermore ; 
And Scotland claims, as her noblest names, 

The Covenant Men of yore. 



THE COVENAMT SANGS. 207 



THE COVENANT SANGJS. 

I've wandered east, I've wandered wast, and Scotlands' hills 

amang, 
An' listened to the ploughman's lilt, the shepherd's e'enin' 

sang, 
An' sadly mused on b3^gone davs — for there's nae sang ava 
To mind ye o' the brave auld times — the Covenant times awa. 

The braid blue bannel still may deed the pows in green Glen- 
cairn. 
The laverock wake the mavis yet in howes o'auld Carsphairn ; 
But waes me for the Covenant Psalm, that echoed aince amang 
The wastlin' hames o* Scotland, mair sweet than mavis sang. 

Aince gaed ye east, or gaed ye wast, on howm or heather braes. 
In clachan, cot, an' shiel was heard the e'enin' lilt o' praise; 
And in the calm o' morn and even, the solemn sounds o' 

prayer 
Frae Scotland's hames amang the hills, went floatin' up the 

air. 



208 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

Frae Solvvay to Dunnottar, frae the Bass to Fenwick moor, 
The Covenant life was bonnie aince, the Covenant faith was 

pure ; 
The flow'rs o' heaven were rife on earth — frae 'neath the auld 

blue bannet, 
Cam' croonin' up King David's psalm, or aiblins Erskine'8 

sonnet. 

But noo nae mair amang the glens, nae mairamang the liills, 
The simple strains o' Covenant times, the muirlan' shep- 
herd trills : 
Ye'll wander far afore ye hear the e'enin' psalm ava — 
The bonnie flowers o' Scotland's faith are nearly wed awa. 



JAMES MURRAY. 209 



THE REV. JAMES MURRAY. 

AUTHOR OF '-SONGS OF COVENANT TIMES." 

For more than thirty years Mr. Murray was minister of 
the parish of old Cumnock, Ayrshire. He was born at 
Langcoat, in the parish of Eddleston, Peeblesshire. Re- 
ceiving his early education at the parish school of Peebles, 
beautifully situated in the valley of the Tweed, he passed 
to the University of Edinburgh, where, after the Arts course, 
he studied divinity under the celebrated Dr. Chalmers, 
and becme acquainted with James Hogg, the Ettrick Shep- 
herd, who predicted great things of Mr. Murray as a poet. 
Licensed to preach shortly before the disruption in the 
church of Scotland, he was for a few months assistant at 
Kirkconnel, in Nithsdale ; and when that event took place, 
he held on to the established church, and became minister 
of Old Cumnock. Almost the last of his public appear- 
ances was at a week-day gathering at the grave of Richard 
Cameron in '' the lone and wild Ayrsmoss." It was a day 
of windy storm, rain, and tempest, such as is seldom seen 
even among the mountain wilds of Scotland at the summer 
14 



210 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

season ot the year ; but his earnest, eloquent, and impassion- 
ed appeals of admonition and warning on the threatening 
aspect of the times rose high above the hoarse roar of the 
hurricane which careered along the moor. In the autumn 
of that year, ] 874, Mr. Murray's health began to fail, and he 
was urged to seek for its restoration in the south of France. 
He said, however, that his days were numbered, and he left 
persuaded that he would see his native land no more. At 
Mentone, he lingered for a few weeks, when a voice said 
to him in Apocalyptic language, " Come up hither," and 
on the 30th day of January, 1875, he expired there in the 
64th year of his age. Besides the volume of poems named, 
Mr. Murray published a goodly volume of excellent dis- 
courses entitled "The Prophet's Mantle: Being Scenes 
from the Life of Elisha." The " iSongs of the Covenant 
Times" has a lengthy introduction, giving a capital account 
of the Covenanting struggle in Scotland. The first poem 
in the volume is " The Hill Preacher, Alexander Peden." 
Fourteen other poems follow, all on scenes and incidents 
connected with the Covenant times, and all of which possess 
a peculiar sweetness of versification, and a power and pathos 
which frequently compel a tear to trickle down the face of 
the reader or the listener. " Black Saturday," which is in 
the Scottish dialect, is a wierd, and an almost appalling 
poem, the subject of it being the confirming of the ''Five 
Articles of Perth," when a thunder storm broke over the 
city of Edinburgh, extending also to the remoter districts, 
of which DeFoe says "the like had not been known in the 
memory of men." This event and storm, Mr. Murray has 
wrought into a poem of surpassing power ; as are also most 
of the other tragic events upon which they are all founded, 
and which when once read can never be forgotten. 



JAMES MURRAY. 211 

Mr. Murray's younger brother, the Eev. Robert E. Mur- 
ray, minister of New Cumnock, who still survives, is also a 
Doet of fine taste, culture, and performance. 



212 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 



A CONVENTICLE IN SNOW TIME. 

A DEEP-TONED, bitter, sullen wind was sweeping, 

Across the upland waste ; 
Each living thing its covert close was keeping, 

Or sought it in its haste. 

Yet, when the swirling, drifted snow was filling 

Each cave and sheltered nook, 
A solemn, plaintive strain of praise came thrilling 

Up from an ice-bound brook. 

A remnant, sore-bested, had come together, 

To mourn, and watch, and pray. 
Unmindful of the wind and dreary weather 

Of that wild, wrathful day. 

A valiant and a famous standard-bearer 

Was lately done to death; — 
One, who of many perils was a sharer, 

Had spent his latest breath. 



A CONVENTICLE IN SNOW TIME. 2l3 

It was a time of sorrow, dread, and grieving, 

To those heart-stricken men ; 
And they had met, their burdened souls relieving, 

Up in that stormy glen. 

A youth of comely form and mien arising, 

The gospel message told. 
In fervour nought withholding, nought disguising, 

Like faithful seer of old. 

All in the wintry wind and snow-drift standing, 

With cold and frost distrest, 
His earnest voice, the heart and ear commanding. 

Moved every captive breast. 

For higher gifts of hope and faith he pleaded — 

For greater love and zeal; 
Not vainly uttered; not unfelt, unheeded, 

Passed the sublime appeal! 

On him and all around the snow was falling. 

Yet there they held their place. 
Though, overhead, the winter-blast appalling 

Pursued its rapid chase. 

From morn to darkling eve they clung together, 

Unwilling to depart; 
The saintly love they bore to one another 

Had bound them heart to heart. 

And yet, a higher sentiment withheld them 
From courting selfish rest ; 



214 POETBY OF THE COVENANT. 

The love of Him whose friendly eye oeheld them 
Unworthy thought represt. 

Oh, boast not men whose heartless, cruel mission 

Was tracking such as these. 
To gratify a tyrant's wrong ambition — 

His bigot whims to please ! 

And, tell us not of chivalry and daring. 

Or deeds of valour done; 
When, at the price of cruelty unsparing. 

The palm of fame was won ! 

Swift come the season, when the deep devotion 

Of those who braved the rage 
Of banded furies, roused to fell commotion. 

Shall every heart engage ! 

Be not far hence, bright day, when holier feeling 

The world wide shall control, 
And love unstinted, to the heart appealing. 

Shall mould each kindred soul. 

For, wheresoever Piety is cherished, 

And loved by young and old. 
The grand old memories of martyrs perished 

Are treasured and extolled ! 



THE BANNER OF THE COVENANT. 215 



THE BANNER OF THE COTENANT. 

KEPT BY MR. HUGH M'GEACHAN, CUMNOCK. 
I. 

In a quiet old-fashioned lane, 
Running, zig-zag, here and there. 

In his cottage neat and plain, 
In his ample elbow-chair, 

In his honest crusty manner, 

Sits the keeper of the banner. 

II. 

Bring the ancient relic forth! — 

Precious 'tis, though old and tattered. 

It has waved o'er men of worth. 

When around it death was scattered : 

It has glanced through moss and fen 

Gruarded by the Covenant men! 

III. 

Spread it out with tender care ; 



216 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

Slowly smooth its cinmpled creases ; 
Use it gently, softly — there ! 

We've arranged its fragile pieces, 
And its legend fitly scanned, 
" For our God and Fatherland!" 

IV. 

Hearts have throbbed with hopes and fears. 
When the rustling breeze thee fluttered ; 

Loving looks bedimmed with tears, 
Long-drawn sighs and blessings muttered- 

All have greeted thee of old. 

On occasions manifold ! 

y. 

When a tyrant ruled the land. 
And our sires in deserts wandered; 

When a sore afflicted band. 
In despair unfurled the standard, 

In the desperate fight and sally 

Thou didst lure the faint to rally. 

VI. 

Old and tattered as thou art ; 

Little heeded, little known. 
Thou didst play a valiant part 

In the struggle long bygone; 
And our boasted liberty, 
Partly purchased was by thee. 

VII. 

Far be days with passion rife, 



THE BANNER OF THE COVENANT. 217 

Wherein blood and gold are squandered ; 
May'st thou ue'er in civil strife, 

Gleam again, time-honoured standard! 
But, with peaceful fingers prest, 
'Mid thy cob-webs lie at rest! 

VIII. 

Lie at rest ; but should our soil 

Menaced be with profanation, 
Let the doughty sons of toil, 

Worthy of their sires and station — 
Worthy all of freemen's glory, 
Rally 'round their standard hoary ! 

IX. 

Lie at rest; but yet when times — 

Peaceful times of joyous greeting. 
Wake the happy village chimes — 

Rich and poor together meeting — 
Let our brave old flag's display 
Cheer the fleeting holiday! 



218 POETRY OF THE COVENAifT. 



THE BLACK SATURDAY. 

4th august, 1621. 

" There's a mirk clud on the sun, gudeman, 

And a het gloff frae the gress ; 
And the kye stand thowless on the croft 

Wi' a look o' sair distress. 

" And the sheep, a' gathered in knots, gudeman, 

Are courin' upon the hill ; 

At the mid-day hour it is gloamin' grown— 

« 
I fear it forebodes some ill ! 

" There's a red gaw in the north, gudeman. 

Like a furnace seven times het ; 
In mirk aneth and in mirk aboon, 

The lift and the heights are met. 

" I canna see where the lift begins, 

Or where the hill-taps end; 
And mirk, and mirker still it grows — 

May heaven a' skaith forefend!' 



l-HE BLACK SATURDAY. 2l9 

" O, haud thy peace, mine auld gudewife, 

Though mine een be blear't and dim, 
I can feel it mirk when it licht suld be, 

And I put my trust in Him. 

" And though our shielin' be derk and dowf, 

Yet Ulai's stream rine clear; 
And there sail we gather the gowden fruit, 

Through a' the lichtsome year!" 

" O, heard ye that fearsome crash, gudeman. 

Or saw ye yon flash sae bricht? 
As the lift had crack't, and the sun fa'en "through. 

And the sea had quenched his licht! 

" Our son is upon the hill, gudeman. 

Our daughter was teddin' hay; 
And, meikle I fear that ane or baith 

Come to skaith on this awsome day!" 

" O, dinna be fley't, mine auld gudewife. 

That, outher we're gaun to tyne — 
Though wrath be sair on land and sea, 

It's nouther 'gainst yours nor mine. 

" And I dred it wad be a day o' dool 

For the trespass o' the land; 
' Tis vengeance that cleedeth the lift wi' mirk, 

And bareth its red richt hand. 

" For a godless, graceless band are met, 
This day in Edinbruch toun ; 



220 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

And a' to set up the thing we hate, 
And to pu' the gude cause doun." 

" O, hear ye the thick spate fa' gudeman, 
And the hailstanes dirl the pane? — 

Ye're welcome, children; heaven be prais'd, 
We see you in life again!" 

" O, faither, is this the day o' doom, 
When the dead and the quick sail meet? — 

A fire-clud sits on the heigh hill-tap, 
And hisses 'mid hail and sleet. 

" The muirfowl coured 'neath the heather-cow. 

At the side o' the corbie-craw; 
And they feard na him, and he feard na me, 

And ae dread possest us a' ! 

" And the fire hung red frae my bonnet-rim. 

And flichtered amang my hair; 
And I thocht wi' mysel', as a prayer I said, 

We never suld meet aince mair. 

" And burns ran wild and roarin' rude. 

Where burns ne'er wont to be ; 
And hadna a gude God led my steps 

Ye never had looked on me!" 

" And, mither, when up in the spretty cleuch, 

A-ky]in' the winter hay, 
The mirkness fell down sae thick, I thocht 

My sicht hat stown away. 



THE BLACK SATURDAY. 221 

"And a lavrock that sang i' the lift at morn, 

Cam sklentin' down wi' the rain, 
And I've keepit the wee thing in my breast 

To shelter its heart frae pain!" 

" Tis a day o' wrath and strife, my bairns, 

A day o' storm and mirk; " 
For the king's black bands o' prelacy 

Are conspirin' against the kirk." 

" O, sit ye down, my children baith, 

The thunder is wearin' caulm ; 
And Willie sail read the blessed Bulk, 

And Mary sail sing the psaulm. 

"And we'll a' kneel down by the braid hearth-stane. 

And your faither in faith sail pray, 
That the God o' Grace may defend the richt. 

And banish our fears awajM" 



222 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 



HORATIUS BONAR. 

The Kev. Dr. Bonar was born in Edinburgh on the 19th 
December, 1808. For several generations his ancestors 
had been ministers of the church of Scotland. Educated 
at the High Scho'ol and the University of his native city, he 
was licensed to preach the gospel, the power of which he 
had felt from his youth up. He acted for some time as a 
missionary in Leith, and in 1837 he was called to, and or- 
dained to the gospel ministry at Kelso on the Border. 
Here he laboured and wrote for thirty years, and then re- 
turned to his native city as the pastor of the Chalmers 
memorial church. Dr. Bonar is the author of numerous 
works in prose, all excellent and full of holy hope. His 
poetical works are " Lyra Consolationis," and " Hymns of 
Faith and Hope," rich with, and full of gospel truth, and 
of true and exalted poetry. Dr. Bonar died not long ago, 
full of years and honours ; and of him ages hence, it will 
most surely be true, as of Abel and others who served so 
well their day and generation, " He being dead, yet 
speaketh,' ' 



THE martyr's hymn. 223 



THE MARTYR'S HYMN. 

" The glory of children are their fathers."— Prov. xvii. 6. 

There was gladness in Zion, her standard was flying- 
Free o'er her battlements, glorious and gay; 

All fair as the morning shone forth her adorning, 
And fearful to foes was her goodly array. 

There is mourning in Zion, her standard is lying 
Defiled in the dust, to the spoiler a prey ; 

And now there is wailing, and sorrow prevailing, 
For the best of her children are weeded away. 

The good have been taken, their place is forsaken ; 

The man and the maiden, the green and the gray. 
The voice of the weepers wails over the sleepers, 

The martyrs of Scotland they now are away ! 

The hue of her waters is crimsoned with slaughters, 
The blood of the martyrs has reddened the clay ; 

And dark desolation broods over the nation. 
For the faithful are perished, the good are away ! 



224 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

On the mountains of heather they slumber together; 

On the wastes of the moorland their bodies decay : 
How sound is their sleeping, how safe is their keeping, 

Though far from their kindred they moulder away. 

Their blessing shall hover, their children to cover, 
Like the cloud of the desert, by night and by day, 

Oh, never to perish, their names let us cherish. 
The martyrs of Scotland they now are away ! 



THE MARTYR'S GRAVE. 22 



THE MARTYR'S GRAVE. 

The moss is green upon the stone ; 

The stone lies heavy on the mould ; 
The spot is dreary, sad, and lone; 

The forest air is cold. 

The sky above is wan and bleak ; 

The ground beneath is brown and bare : 
No living voice intrudes to break 

The tranquil silence there. 

Another breeze among the boughs, 
And then another leafy shower 

Comes rustling down ; the sadness grows 
More and more sad each hour. 

The shadow of the drifting cloud 
Falls chilly on these gloomy firs. 

Deepening the darkness of the wood : 
Hardly a leaflet stirs. 

Quick-twinkling through the leafy screen, 

The stray gleams go and come ; 
15 



226 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

Half-hidden by the shade, is seen 
The old and well-known tomb. 

Here sleeps the martyr's weary head ; 

Here moulders holy dust, 
With the wild wood-moss overspread. 

Besting in silent trust. 

No summer-flowers breathe sweetness here, 

It is a lone forsaken spot. 
Round lie the leaves of autumn sere. 

The leaf that changes not. 

Far from man's voice of love or strife, 
'Tis fit that here his grave should be. 

In death an outcast as in life — 
Unnamed in history. 

Young hopes, young friendships, joys of earth, 
Had passed him by like summer- dreams ; 

Solemn his life had been from birth. 
Like march of mountain streams. 

Changeful his lot, like yon vexed sky, 
When moorland breezes wildly blow ; 

His weary soul now rests on high, 
His body sleeps below. 

Rest, weary dust, lie here an hour; 

Ere long, like blossom from the sod. 
Thou Shalt come forth a glorious flower. 

Fit for the eye of God. 



HUGH C. WILSON. 227 



HUGH €. WILSON. 

This living poet Avas born at a cottage near to Dumfries 
House, Cumnock, Ayrshire, about the year 1845, his fa- 
ther being a sober, sensible ploughman in the employ of 
the Marquis of Bute. His school time past, young Wilson 
learned the gardening business, and has been for a length 
of time in England, and at present fills the situation of 
head gardener and farm manager to a nobleman in the 
south of England. Studious, pious, and a patriot, his 
country's heroes are dear to his heart; and so also are the 
beauties of Nature, which inspire him to sing of her charms. 
In 1874 he published "The Rustic Harp," and in 1876 
"Wild Sprays from the Garden;" both of which volumes 
are alike creditable to his head and his heart. 



228 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 



COVENANT TIMES. 

Awake, my harp! ring out thy notes, ring out thy richest 

strain, 
O'er those who boldly dared for love of God's cause to be 

slain ; 
Tell thou each Christian of to-day, who by the wayside 

faints, 
Of times when Scotia's plaid was dyed with life-blood of the 

saints; 
When everywhere, by hill and glen, within the stricken land, 
Who held the Bible, also held their life within their hand; 
When righteous men were hunted down like wild beasts of 

the field- 
Brave men, who in the cause of truth, would rather die than 

yield. 

Lo! deep from wild sequestered glen, amidst the Sabbath 

calm. 
Arises through the early mists, to Heaven the morning psalm ; 
Then on the sward, when knees are pressed and every heart 
re, 



COVENANT TIMES. 229 

Tfieir hearts rise with the speaker's voice, up to the throne in 

prayer. 
The aged pastor reads the word from God's own sacred page — 
Perhaps, wbere David sought the Lord to quell the heathen's 

rage; 
Again a psalm they sweetly chant, then kneeling down to 

pray : 
"Oh! help us, Lord, to do thy will— protect us through this 

day." 

With Bible placed upon a rock, he then expounds the word : 
But, hark! like wind among the trees, a murmuring is heard, 
As when far out the sailor hears across his trackless path 
The tempest breathe o'er ocean vast a telegram of wrath. 
An awful stillness intervenes, then borne along they hear. 
Much louder now, like troubled winds, the murmur coming 

near. 
Each heart stands still, the cheeks are blanched, the speak- 
er's voice is dumb ; 
Their sentry calls from off the height, "The king's dra- 
goons — they come! " 

" Be calm, be calm, my children dear, and on the Lord rely; 
He ever ready is to save the needy when they cry ; 
Mysterious unto us His ways, but, blessed be His name, 
We yet may wear a robe of light — our foes a crown of shame. 
Adown the glen now while you may, seek safety all in flight, 
But draw your blades, ye trusty few, who yet may have to 

fight; 
The aged and the feeble first; haste! for they hurry near; 
The women and the children next; ye strong men, guard the 

rear." 



230 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

The holy man, when left alone, sank down behind a rock. 
"Heed, heed not me, O Lord!" he cried, "but spare, oh spare 

Thy flock! 
Tny hand lies heavy on the land, oh lift Thy chastening rod. 
If 'tis Thy holy will to hear ray humble prayer, O God ! 
And bless wherever met this day, in cave or lonely glen. 
Thy chosen few, and teach them. Lord, to bear themselves 

like men ; 
And help Thy humble servant now, and hear his earnest cry; 
If in his en'my's hand he fall, oh give him strength to die." 

The captain came. "N^ow hoary scamp to flames thy Bible 

fling, 
And on your knees go down and swear allegiance to the King. " 
•'To Heaven's high King alone ; but not to false King James, 

or thou. 
While life blood warms this aged frame, these knees will ever 

bow." 
" Form round, and ready then, my lads, his blood be on his 

head. 
" King James or death?" " Heaven's King alone! I have 

already said." 
Flash! went the guns, down sank the saint, thrust by the 

tyrant's rod. 
With horrid oath into his ears, before thy throne, O God! 

O Scotland ! Scotland ! scenes like these may well draw burn- 
ing tears, 

When fiendish men insult thy maids and murder all thy seers. 

But yet tho' rude and rough equipped, thy Hillmen were not 
slow. 

When band and band together met to face the ruthless foe. 



COVENANT TIMES. 231 

Then as a hundred sturdy men cleave down the forest oaks, 
'Midst battle's shout and horrid din, so rose and fell their 

strokes. 
Plumed helmets then were cleft in twain — " Our hearts and 

homes," they cry; 
And fighting fell, or conquered there, but scorned to yield 

or fly. 

On many a lonely mountain waste, by many a trackless way, 

A cairn tells where a hero sleeps, to Scotland of to-day. 

Lo ! far on lone CorsgelLioch moor, where heath fowls build 

their nest. 
And lambkins frisk among the knowes — three martyrs lie at 

rest. 
At Cumnock, too, now undisturbed beneath the Peden's Thorn, 
Three lie beside the Seer, who held the tyrant's law in scorn. 
And hundreds more the country round, from age to tender 

youth, 
A mighty cloud of witnesses, who died for love of truth. 

Ring out, my harp, o'er scenes like these— ring out thy lof- 
tiest strain. 
In memory of those who dared for God's cause to be slain. 
Tell of the Covenanting times, when Scotland boldly thrust 
Those cursed chains beneath her feet, and trod them in the dust. 
Praise to the Covenanters' God, to whom all praise is due, 
That Bibles now in every hand are seen the country through. 
And praise be to His holy name, that ever men were found 
To beard the brutish Roman beast and smite him to the ground. 



232 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 



JOHN WRIGHT. 

lu the year 1805 this poet was born at Auchincloigh, 
the birthplace of the Covenanter, Peden, in the parish of 
Sorn, which lies high up among the Ayrshire hills. When 
but a child his parents removed into the town of Galston 
in the valley of the Irvine. Early in life, and but poorly 
educated, he was apprenticed to the weaving trade with a 
good and intelligent Christian named George Brown, well 
versed in religious literature. Wright's mind, however, 
soared off into the realms of poetry, which he cultivated 
by lonely walks among the woods and streams which sur- 
round the old Castle of Cessnock, once the seat of a truly 
noble family — the Campbells — mentioned in Knox's His- 
tory of the Keformation, and attached to the Covenanting 
party till the Kevolution of 1688. Improving his educa- 
tion and cultivating poetry, Wright, in 1828, published 
" The Ketrospect," a lengthy poem in two cantos, which 
was reviewed and praised by Professor Wilson in Black- 
wood's Magazine. It is sad to think that the success of 
liis volume threw him off his balance, and that becoming ad- 



JOHN WRIGHT, 233 

dieted to drink, he parted with his wife and became a wan- 
derer and an outcast. He continued, however, to write, and 
at times tried to struggle back into the paths of virtue and 
sobriety, when he would launch terrible and powerful 
poetical imprecations against intemperance. But his self- 
control was gone. At last one night about the year 1846, 
he was found in the streets of Glasgow in a deplorable and 
unconscious state of intoxication, and was carried to the In- 
firmary, seemingly dying. A Galston man was then em- 
ployed there who recognized him; but in spite of all 
medical efforts he died next day. The Galston men then 
resident in Glasgow, sad and sorrowful at the melancholy 
end of one so gifted, gave him a decent burial, even among 
the great where so many poets lie — in the Necropolis. A 
cast of his finely intellectual head was taken, which, how- 
ever, came to a disastrous end, like the poet's self. For a 
while it was kept in the Infirmary. Ultimately it came 
into the possession of a Galston man, and was taken to that 
town. Meeting with an accident after sundry repairs, it 
was at last " used up," as the mistress of the house said, 
" in scorin the kitchen floor !" His works had reached a 
third edition before his sad and melancholy end. When 
we think of what he was, what he might have become, and 
what he became, by tampering with the demon drink, well 
may we exclaim, with that fine moral poet, the Rev. George 
Grabble — 

"■ Ah! fly temptation, youth, refrain, refrain! 
Nor let me preach for ever and in vain!" 



234 POETKY OF THE COVENANT. 



THE BATTLE OF PENTLAND HILLS. 

Shall that dread hour of glory, 
Till Time himself grow hoary, 
Ignobly die in story 

Or in a Briton's ear : 
That hour with horror spangled, 
When Liberty lay mangled, 

On Pentland mountains drear? 

A faithful few, unbending, 
To deathful storms impending. 
Where seen these heights ascending. 

At early watch of morn ; 
Pursued, but yet unfearing, 
They sung their songs endearing, 
While a bloody foe appearing, 

Laughed the heavenly sounds to scorn, 

For Freedom they have striven, 
In the open face of Heaven : 



THE BATTLE OF PENTLAND HILLS. 235 

Afar, 'mongst deserts driven, 

Their front defiance wore. 
On the heaths above Dunedin, 
Soon the patriot band lay bleeding, 
And the carrion foul were feeding 

Their young with Martyr's gore. 

But while their hands were wielding 
The spear, their hearts were building 
On prayer, hope, faith, unyielding 

To the myrmidons of crime : 
By the hell-let-loose of JSTeros, 
Whose names like simoons sear us, 
Were massacred the heroes 

Of the Covenant sublime. 

Then songs of mountain gladness 
Were changed to strains of sadness ; 
While havoc, in its madness, 

Wrought all around despair; 
Hope seemed for ever blighted, 
Sweet mercy fled affrighted, 
From blackest fiends united. 

Torn enting earth and air, 

But the sword of justice glancing. 
Come in the rear advancing, 
Heaven's armoury elancing 

Its rays of dreadful sheen : 
Then came vindictive Kuin, 
A monarchy undoing, 



236 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

That long had been imbruing 

In blood its hands unclean. 

Then dawned the golden season, 
Of Liberty and Keason ; 
The hated name of treason 

Stamp'd no more on Faith was seen. 
The Muses from Aonia, 
Sought out sweet Caledonia, 
And mists of Pandemonia, 

Dispersed from thence bedeen. 

Then smiled each peaceful village, 
No more given o 'er to p illage ; 
Then flourished trade and tillage. 
Every blessing we adore 
Be hallowed and defended, 
The sceptre that 's extended. 
The Monarch that ascended 

To gladden Albion's shore. 



HENRY S. KIDDELL. 237 



REV. HENRY SCOTT RIDDELL. 

One of the last, and likewise one of the very best of the 
great Border bards, was the Rev. Mr. Riddell, Avho was born 
at Sorbie, in the sweet pastoral valley of the Ewes in the 
south-eastern part of Dumfriesshire, on 23rd September, 
1798. His father soon after removed to the wild district 
of Eskdalemuir and by and by to Ettrick forest. The 
future poet was early put to the keeping of sheep, having 
received only a very elementary education. He, however, 
taught himself among the solitudes of mountain, valley, and 
stream ; his converse with nature also engendering poetic 
thoughts and aspirations in his bosom. So well did he train 
himself, that he was able to enter the University, first at 
St. Andrews, and afterwards that of Edinburgh, and in 
due time was settled minister of Teviothead, and continued 
most faithfully to perform the duties of his office till 1841, 
when he was laid aside for some years by a painful mental 
malady, from which, however, he completely recovered, but 
did not again resume his ministerial duties, the late Duke 
of Buccleuch generously allowing him to retain the cottage 



238 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

he had built for him there, and also attaching to it a little 
farm, rent free. Mr. Riddell died suddenly on the 30th 
July, 1870, greatly lamented not only in the district, but 
far beyond it. 

Mr. Riddell was widely known and held in high repute 
as a poet. In 1881 he published his " Songs of the Ark," 
which at once lifted him into fame. Several other volumes 
followed at intervals ; his songs being among the very best 
we have, and his " Scotland Yet,' ' and " Ours is the Land of 
Gallant Hearts," will live with the language. His lengthy 
poem, too, " The Sea-grey man," is a most powerful and 
moving one ; while nothing of the kind almost ever equalled 
that most touching and musical lyric, entitled ''Our Ain 
Folk," of which we cannot refrain from giving the conclud- 
ing stanza which shows the warmth of his affections, and 
his hopefulness for the better life in the world above : 

" I wish we were hame to our ain folk. 

Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk. 
Where the wild thistles wave o'er the beds o"" the brave. 

And the graves are the graves o' our ain folk. 
But happy-gae-lucky, we'll trodge on our way, 
Till the arm waxes weak and the haffet grows grey; 
And though in this warP our ain still we miss, 
AVe'll meet them again in a warP o' bliss. 

And then we'll be hame to our ain folk, 

Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk, 
Where far yont the moon in the heavens aboon, 

The hames are the hames o' our ain folk." 

Living in a district " flowered with martyrs' graves," Mr. 
Riddell makes frequent reference to them and to the Gov- 



HENRY S. RIDDELL. 239 

enanting struggle in his poems, particularly in one of some 
1600 lines, entitled, "This Heart must Bleed for Thee : 
A Tale of Covenanting Times. " We give here his poem on 
the brave men who fell at Pentland Hills in 1666, which 
he entitles " Rullion Green." 



240 POETKV OF THE COVENANT. 



RULLION OREEN. 

While lone through the woodland my path I pursue, 
Where the soft breeze of morning unceasingly sighs, 

Yet scarce stirs the boughs o'er the night's deeper dew, 
So long in the forest recesses it lies; 

Oh ! shall not the thoughts to high heaven belong, 
Where now live exalted the faithful and good, 

Who here, when the tide of oppression ran strong, 
For faith and for freedom the spoiler withstood? 

The sunshine beams bright on the heath of the hill, 
And beauty and bliss mark the scenery of day ; 

There's music and joy in the voice of the rill. 

And the wild rose in loveliness waves by the way. 

Yet would there be joy in the voice of the stream, 
And beauty on earth from the heavens above. 

All blended in light like a bliss-bringing dream. 
If our land were no land of true freedom and love? 

More rich is the flower, and the sunshine more bright, 
In the isles lying far o'er the ocean's wide wave; 



BULLION GREEN. 241 

But when shall the lawn and the flower bring delight, 
That is trod by the step of the tyrant and slave? 

On the breast of yon steep, Lol the warrior's grey cairn, 
Who bled for his country, still rising is seen; 

And far 'mong the moorlands, the heath and the fern 
Wave round where the grave of the martyr grows green 

And these are the mighty, the morally brave. 

Who died an inheritance thus to convey 
That is more than the wealth that can come by the slave, 

And all that is found 'neath the dwellings of day 

'Twas the light of high heaven that fired (though so frail) 
The heart of humanitj^, still to withstand 

The powerful and proud, who with death would assail 
The lowly and faithful that lived in the land. 

Defying that God, in their merciless strife, 
That erst sent to save them His own only Son, 

They lavished in madness the powers of their life 
In the soul-searing servitude of the Foul One. 

Oh, pause by the cairn, yet still more by the grave 
That far on the moor for the martyr was dug. 

And ask if 't were more not true freedom to save 
Than won all that proud ones delighted to hug. 

The King in yon halls drank his deep draughts of wine, 
While flatterers around sent the ruthless abroad. 

The progress to mar of the radiance divine, 
And murder the peaceful, and browbeat their God. 

IG 



242 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

They hemmed in the valley and hunted the moor, 
And pilfered the gear that the fugitives left; 

And mocked the frail mother and children, now poor, 
Of their father and home and their holding bereft. 

Thus press would the power that enforced them to bear, 
Yet left for the sufferer no path for appeal. 

Till wild desperation arose from despair. 
To ward off the blows that oppression would deal. 

Here hoary and hot came the wild Laird of Binns, 
Whose cheek ne'er the tear-drop of pity bedewed; 

But victory is poor inhumanity wins 

O'er those it to woe and to want hath pursued. 

Yet sigh not for them with a bosom dismayed 
That here sleep so sound where they died on the lea; 

Though the turf by the stranger might o'er them be laid. 
'T was a turf of the land which they fell to make free. 

And God will remember, belo w and above. 
The heart that approved itself fearlessly true 

To the cause which His influe nee has taught it to love, 
Where the foemen are tier ce and the faithful are few. 

Here, here, too, behold how the stone has been reared, 
The memorial of those, still through ages to stand. 

Who died in resisting the foes that appeared 
'Gainst the freedom and faith of their own native land. 



ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 243 



ALLAN CUJ^NINOHAM. 

This famous song and ballad writer was born at Black- 
wood, near Dumfries, on Tth December 1784. Educated 
at a sclioolkep t by a stanch Cameronian, the future poet 
was put as an apprentice to learn to be a stone mason, 
and in time became one of the best builders in the district. 
A great reader from his very early years, he began to 
write poetry when very young. Before he was twen-ty he 
made the acquaintance of the Ettrick Shepherd, who soon 
became impressed with the genius of the youthful poet, and 
afterwards thus introduced him as one of the competino- 
bards in "The Queen's Wake:" 

" And long by Nith the maidens young 
Shall chant the strains their minstrel sung 
At ewe-bricht or at evening fold, 
When resting on the daisied wold. 
Combing their locks of waving gold, 
Oft the fair group enrapt shall name 
Their lost, their darling Cunninghame ; 



244 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

His was a song beloved in youth, 
A tale of weir, a tale of truth.'" 

Having contributed some ballads to Cromek's " Remains 
of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, ' ' Cunningham was induc- 
ed to go to London and was fortunate, after some hard- 
ships endured, to get an engagement in the establishment 
of Sir Francis Chantrey, the sculptor, as superintendent, 
and remained with him till his death, nearly thirty years 
after, writing much, and writing well both in poetry and 
prose. His songs, especially, are with those of Burns, Hogg 
and one or two others, the best in the language. Cunning- 
ham, while in London, came into close contact with most 
of the great men of his time, and " Honest Allan," as he 
was familiarly called, was a favourite with them all. His 
heart, however, w^as constantly in Scotland, and of the 
green hills of Galloway he loved best to sing and to talk. 
When his master, the great sculj^tor, a little before his death, 
was showing Cunningham the plan of the granite tomb 
in which he wished to be buried in Norton churchyard, 
Derbyshire, his native place, he said to him, with a look 
of anxiety: " But there will be no room for you." " Room 
for me !" exclaimed Cunningham. " 1 would not lie like 
a toad in a stone. Oh ! no ; let me lie where the green 
grass and the daisies grow, waving under the winds of the 
blue heaven.' ' And so it soon came about to both. Chantrey 
lies in his granite tomb ; and only a year after him, Cun- 
ningham was laid to rest in the pretty green cemetery of 
Kensal Green, when he had only reached the age of fifty- 
seven years. His master, who loved him greatly, left him 
a legacy of two thousand pounds, which, however, he did 
not live long to enjoy. Had his life been spared but a 



ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 245 

little longer, he intended to retire and spend the remainder 
of his days in the peaceful and picturesque valley of the 
Nith. 

In his tales, Cunningham makes frequent reference to 
the Covenanters and their persecutors. Of his poems re- 
lating to this dismal period, the best is that on General 
Dalzell; and it is one of terrible and Elijah-like power, 
moving along like the rapid and irresistible tread of the 
war-horse of the old persecutor himself when he hewed 
down the west country peasantry at the battle of Pentland 
Hills. It is entitled " The Downfall of Dalzell." 



246 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 



THE DOWNFALL OF DALZELL. 

The wind is cold, the snow falls fast, 

The night is dark and late. 
As I lift aloud my voice and cry 

By the oppressor's gate. 
There is a voice in every hill, 

A tongue in every stone ; 
The greenwood sings a song of joy, 

Since thou art dead and gone : 
A poet's voice is in each mouth. 

And songs of triumph swell, 
Glad songs that tell the gladsome earth 

The downfall of Dalzell. 

As I raised up my voice to sing, 
I heard the green earth say : 

Sweet am I now to beast and bird. 
Since thou art past away, 

I hear no more the battle-shout. 
The martyr's dying moans ; 

My cottages and cities sing 



THE DOWNFALL OF DALZELL, 247 

From their foundation stones 
The carbine and the cnlverin 's mute — 

The death-shot and the yell * 
Are twin'd into a shout of joy, 

For thy downfall, Dalzell. 

I've trode thy banner in the dust, 

And caused the raven call 
From thy bride-chamber to the owl 

Hatched on thy castle wall ; 
I've made thy minstrel's music dumb, 

And silent now to fame 
Art thou, save when the orphan casts 

His curses on thy name. 
Now thou may'st say to good men's prayers 

A long and last farewell : 
There's hope for every sin save thine — 

Adieu, adieu, Dalzell! 

The grim pit opes for thee her gates. 

Where punished spirits wail. 
And ghastly death throws wide her door. 

And hails thee with " All hail!" 
Deep from the grave there comes a voice, 

A voice with hollow tones. 
Such as a spirit's tongue would have 

That spoke through hollow bones : — 
Arise, ye martyred men, and shout 

From earth to howling hell : 
He comes, the persecutor comes ! 



248 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

O'er an old battlefield there rushed 

A wind, and with a moan 
The severed limbs all rustling rose 

Even fellow, bone to bone. 
Lo! there he goes, I heard them crj^ 

Like babe in swathing band. 
Who shook the temples of the Lord, 

And passed them 'neath his brand! 
Cursed be the spot where he was born ; 

There let the adders dwell. 
And from his father's hearthstone hiss : 

All hail to thee, Dalzelll 

I saw thee growing like a tree — 

Thy green head touched the sky — 
But birds far from thy branches built. 

The wild deer pass'd they hy : 
No golden dew dropt on thy bough, 

Glad summer scorned to grace 
Thee with her flowers, nor shepherds wooed 

Beside thy dwelling place. 
The axe has come and hew'd thee down, 

Nor left one shoot to tell 
Where all thj^ stately glory grew ; 

Adieu, adieu Dalzell I 

An ancient man stands by thy gate. 

His head like thine is gray — 
Gray with the woes of many years — 

Years four-score and a day. 
Five brave and stately sons were his ; 

Two daughters, sweet and rare : 



THE DOWNFALL OF DALZELL. 249 

An old dame, dearer than them all, 
And lands both broad and fair : — 
Two broke their hearts when two were slain, 

• And three in battle fell — 
An old man's curse shall cling to thee : 
Adien, adieu, Dalzell! 

And yet I sigh to think of thee, 

A warior tried and true, 
As ever spurred a steed, when thick 

The splintering lances flew. 
I saw thee in thy stirrups stand. 

And hew thy foes down fast 
When Grierson fled, and Maxwell fail'd ; 

And Gordon stood aghast; 
And Graham, saved by thy sword, raged fierce 

As one redeemed from hell. 
I came to curse thee — and I weep : 

So go in peace, Dalzell. 



250 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 



WILLIAM McDOWALL. 

William McDowall was a native of the town of Dumfries, 
and early became connected with the press. During the 
last forty years of his life he was the able editor of "The 
Standard," the leading newspaper of his native town. 
The author of numerous prose works, he was also the author 
of a volume of poems which reached a second edition. 
A patriot and a Christian, all Mr. McDowall's poems 
breathe a pure and a lofty tone. The best known are 
" The Martyr of Erromanga," and " The Nithsdale Mar- 
tyrs;" the latter being one of the best poems on the 
Martyrs of the Covenant which we have. Mr. McDowall 
died suddenly on the 28th of October, 1888, aged 74 years. 



THE NITHSDALE MARTYRS. 251 



THE NITHSDALE MARTYRS. 

Wax frail and crumble into dust 
Each fretted tomb and storied bust ; 
Memorials of the perished proud, 
Be your intirm foundations bowed. 
Let shattered shaft and plumeless crest 
Time's desolating march attest; 
The gilded scroll and blazing urn 
To blank and voiceless stone return ; 
That truncheon to the earth be thrown, 
Its severed sand like ashes strewn ; 
That diadem to darkness cast. 
Its emblematic glory past : — 
Let these memorials, one and all. 
In unrecorded ruin fall ; 
Yea, let the poet's lofty shrine * 
Its laurelled garniture resign. 
And sink, with dark oblivion hid ; 



* The monument to the poet Burns stands a little way to the east of that raised 
in St. Michael's Churchyard, Dumfries, to the Martyrs. 



252 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

But spare this rude gray pyramid ! 
Time ! take the rest without a tear, 
But turn aside, nor trample here. 

Though well the chisel and the lyre, 

To consecrate the dead conspire, 

And hearts beloved are hushed below. 

Who merit all which these bestow : 

Yet if thy path must needs be traced 

By mouldering shrines and tombs defaced — 

If these which Art has called her own 

But form a footstool for thy throne. 

To tremble 'neath thy tiresome tread, 

Then mingle with the insulted dead; 

If thou canst not thy foot refrain, 

Take these proud piles which crowd the plain ; 

But, as thou would'st a blessing earn, 

Spare, spare the Martyr's humble cairn. 

Memorial of that doughty band 
Whose blood so often dyed the land — • 
Of those who trode a toilsome path, 
Thorn-planted by the tyrant's wrath — 
Who nobly braved contempt and shame. 
Contending for Messiah's claim, 
And leagued in brotherhood and love. 
For His Crown-rights and Covenant strove : 
Witness, ye hills that point to heaven, 
How true the testimony given! 
Witness, ye streams which calmly glide. 
How fearfully their faith was tried ! 
Witness, thou vale of jS^ith so fair, 



THE NITIISDALE MARTYRS. 253 

Their hours of weariness and care — 

Their days of dread and nights of pain, 

When shelter there they sought in vain ! 

Thy dusliy caves their shadows lent; 

Thy craggy glens their foliage bent 

To clasp within their dim embrace 

The remnant of that striken race! 

But cruel men have eagle eyes — 

They pierced the folds and found the prize ; 

They found them with long watching tired, 

But yet with deep devotion fired. 

With haggard look and raiment torn. 

With visage marred, and famine-worn! 

Bow wasted now each stalwart frame! 

But still their high resolve the same — 

To worship, though a host said nay, 

As conscience pointed out the way : 

In its blest exercise they fell. 

Sore stricken in the mountain dell; 

'Mid taunt and scorn they died— they died 

By desert stream and lone hillside! 

And this grey pyramid was piled 
To keep their memory undefiled, 
That men unborn might understand 
The claim of Scotland's martyr band : 
Then spare its stones, thou spoiler Time I 
To touch them were presumptuous crime! 

The stern old Carle, with scythe and glass, 

Just pointed to the drooping grass. 

Which winced and withered 'neath his frown : 



254 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

" So shall its stones be shaken down! 
I travel on — beneath my tread 
Earth's mounmental piles are laid ; 
Though fools would to their tablets trust 
The records of the proud or just, 
And bright or brave achievements done, 
I triumph o'er them every one: 
So must this feeble structure fail, 
And buried'be its woeful tale. 
Swept from the register of years, 
Its narrative of blood and tears : 
In vain to harm it not you call. 
What reck I, if oblivion's pall 
Above these boasted martyrs fall?" 

Then do thy worst, though large thy boast, 
Their hallov>^ed names shall ne'er be lost; 
Their deeds, their wrestlings, their renown. 
Shall pass to latest ages down : 
These cannot fall beneath thy sway 
Like this frail chronicle of clay. 
Long as heroic worth remains 
To thrill the pulse in human veins; 
Long as thyself their fame shall last — 
Yea, longer; for when Time is past. 
The Martyrs' memory shall not die; 
'Tis star-traced in yon cloudless sky. 



JOHN STRUTHERS. 255 



JOHN STRUTHERS. 

Mr. Struthers is the author of ' ' The Poor Man's Sab- 
bath," and numerous other meritorious works. He was 
born at Forefaulks in the parish of East Kilbride, Lan- 
arkshire, 15th July, 1776. His father was a shoemaker 
there for the space of forty years. His mother, an em.i- 
nently Christian woman, taught him to read from the Pro- 
verbs of Solomon, and the Shorter Catechism ; and when 
very young, he could read any chapter in the Bible, a 
knowledge of, a love for, and an obedience to which he mani- 
fested throughout all his after life. In the higher branches 
of his education he was much assisted by Mrs. Baillie, and 
her daughter Miss Joanna Baillie, the celebrated poetess, 
Avho lived near by, and took a Avarm interest in the bright 
little boy. When only seven years of age he was sent to a 
farmer to herd cows. Mrs. Baillie soon after sold off her 
effects and removed to London, to her son, the celebrated 
Dr. Matthew Baillie ; and when the little lad returned home 
at the end of the summer, and found that his kind friends 
were gone, not to return, the vexation of mind threw him 
into a fever for six weeks. The next year, his eighth, was 



256 rOETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

spent at school, where he made remarkable progress. After 
this, and for other three and a half years, he again acted 
as cowherd to his grandmother, on a small upland farm in 
the neighbourhood. His books then, whi<}h he read in the 
fields, were the histories of Wodrow, Knox and Calderwood ; 
the Apologetical Declaration, Naphtali, Hind Let Loose, 
Causes of God's Wrath, and the like. He was afterward 
engaged, and while yet young, to work on a farm in the 
parish of Cathcart. The servants here, as he relates, " were 
brutally ignorant, filthy in conversation, and swore horri- 
bly." The " Gudeman' ' was not much better, although " he 
always said grace to their meals, but it was uniformly in 
the same words. He sometimes made worship in the 
evening, when the whole family commonly fell asleep, and 
he himself sometimes along Avith them.' ' In a cottage close 
by, however, lived a godly couple where the future poet 
was welcome ; and on their clean hearth-stone he read a 
chapter of the Bible in the forenights ; this, then, being 
the only book he had. To this couple he owed it, he always 
said, that the manifold temptations, and the ill example 
to which he was subjected, did not sweep entirely away 
all the good he had previously acquired. 

In his fourteenth year he sat himself down beside his 
father to learn shoe-making, and afterwards perfected him- 
self at the trade in Glasgow. At the age of twenty-two he 
married, settling for three years in East Kilbride, when he 
removed to Glasgow. Having read much during these lat- 
ter years, he, in 1803, published a poem entitled "Antici- 
pation," on the threatened invasion of Britain by Bona- 
parte, which was well received. In 1804, a few weeks 
before the appearance of " The Sabbath," by James Gra- 
hame — he published " The Poor Man's Sabbath," a poem 



JOHN STKUTHERS. • 257 

of over one hundred stanzas in the Spenserian measure, 
which was at once recognized as a noble production, and 
has since passed through numerous editions. Next ap- 
peared, " The House of Mourning, or, The Peasant's Death;" 
also an excellent and impressive poem, but less popular 
than *'The Poor Man's Sabbath," or than '' The Ploguh," 
" Dychmont," and others by which it was followed. 

In 1819, Mr. Struthers entered the printing office of 
Khull, Blackie and Co., Glasgow, as corrector of the press. 
Here he assisted in editing an excellent edition of Wodrow's 
History of the Sufferings of the Church of Scotland. He 
also wrote several prose works of much merit. 

In 1834, he was appointed Librarian of the Stirling In- 
stitution, and continued in it for fifteen years. We need 
not follow Mr. Struthers farther. He died suddenly in 
1853, in the 78th year of his age, and as has been well said 
of him — " He was a man of strong sense, clear intellect, fine 
imagination, of warm sympathies, strong feelings, generous 
sentiments, and powerful emotions, controlled, subdued and 
regulated by the fear of God, and love of his Redeemer and 
fellow-men. He was truly a remnant of the Scottish mind 
and heart, cast in the mould of the best days of her intel- 
lectual and religious elevation." 

Our first extract is from " The Poor Man's Sabbath," and 
is entitle4 an " Admonition and Warning." 



17 



258 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 



ADMONITION AND WARNING. 

And thou, my country, Caledonia, hail I 

Tho' bleak thy hills and boisterous be th}' shore, 
Though towering high thy sister's fame prevail, 

And thou 'mong nations lif fst thy voice no more I 
Time was, thou, too, could'st boast a Roval power; 

The patriot Prince, the gifted Seer, were thine, 
Who strong, in danger's overwhelming hour. 

Did hand to hand with dauntless ardour join, 
Down thy wild glens to pour the light of Truth divine I 

And heaven upon the high emprise did smile. 

Thy royal splendours all have passed away. 
But, in despite of either force or guile. 

Their labours bless thee to this very dwff I 
Thy simple institutions still displa}' 

The bright conception of their mighty mind; 
And Labour smiles, and Poverty looks gay. 

And poor Misfortune dries her tears to find 
Tri;th, Mercy, Light, apd I^aw, and Liberty combined! 



ADMONITION AND WARNING. 259 

But 0, beware! lest any thought of pride. 

When looking at the course which thou hast run, 
In thy own wisdom lead thee to confide, 

And claim the merit due as all thine own ! 
Nor think for thee these gifts were cheaply won ! 

Nol they were earn'd with tears, and toil, and blood! 
Power's minions all in opposition shone, 

And on their side, defiance breathing loud, 
With dreadful tortures arm'd. gaunt persecution stood! 

Though Murrays, Loudouns, Warristons, Argyles, 

Knoxes and Melvilles, Guthries, and Cargills, 
And Kids, and Kings, and Camerons, and McKails, 

And Welches, have adorned thy heath-clad hills; 
Yet thou hast had (authors of nameless ills) 

Thy Sharps and Beatons, bloodthirsty and base; 
T^y Rotheses, McKenzies and Dalzells, 

Foul names, accursed to all succeeding days ! 
And one incarnate fiend in Graham thy page displays! 

These the vile tools of a perverted race. 

Whom mercy could not melt nor judgment awe ; 
For ever straining after Rome's embrace. 

And substituting headstrong will for law ; 
Till pitying Heaven thy deep affliction saw, 

And from their heights the maudling miscreants hurPd, 
Giving thee to the rule of great Nassau ! 

Who Freedom's flag with royal hands unfurPd, 
And, blessing thee, was made a blessing to the world. • 



G POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 



MARTYRLAND AND ITS HEROES. 

From '' Dijchmont.'''' 

How wide the landscape's wondrous stretch, 

That eye may scan, that hand may sketch— 

From lofty Arran's high peaked brow, 

To where Kintyre shuts up the view, 

And faintly glimmering through the haze, 

Like isles seagirt, their heads they raise, 

Mountains on mountains, towering vast, 

Along the sea-indented coast. 

From sounding Marahanish, far 

Into the wastes of wild Braemar, 

From the soft west, where sweet they smile. 

The hills of Cowal and Argyle; 

By Drymen's bare and rugged dells, 

And by the Lenox lovely fells; 

By the bleak Shots, and dimly seen 

With Tinto's towering heights between. 

The weary Pentlands, sad to see, 

Still weeping wounded Liberty, 



MARTYRLAND AND ITS HEROES. 261 

With shield cut through and banner torn, 

Left on them in her blood to mourn, 

While her best friends on scaffold bled, 

Or in dark dungeons pined and died. 

By Carnwath, famed for horse and iron, 

And gay Carstairs, Monteith's pet bairn; 

By Carluke, with its fruitful gills, 

By Lesmahagow's weeping rills, 

In fancy's ear that murmur still 

The wrongs of Cameron and Cargill, 

And Shields, and Renwick, young and good, 

The last who nobly shed his blood, 

Firm, and consistent to the death. 

For Scotland's Covenanted faith. 

And, by yon dark and narrow stripe, • 

The rugged ridge of barren Kype, 

To lofty Loudoun, o'er his bog, 

Still smiling proudly on Drumclog; 

Where Claverse, in his mad career 

Of ruthless murder, learned to fear 

A bold though simple peasantry, 

Who stood for God and Liberty. 

By dark Drumduff, and Hairshaw wide, 

And Elrig brown, in bent array 'd, 

By watery wastes, extending far, 

From Balangeich round green Dunwar; 

Where haunted Croilburn's head streams twine 

Through the black bogs of lone Lochgoin, 

To where the sea-born breezes roam 

O'er Largs, far-famed, and Kilmalcolm. 



262 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

Thee, Bothwell, can I pass, nor yield 
A tear to thy ill-fated field, 
Where valour came, but wisdom not, 
And common prudence was forgot ; 
Where fell the banner of the just, 
And truth was trampled in the dust, 
Freedom became absurd disorder, 
And victory lost her name in murder! 
Yet time has each external trace 
Erased of all this foul disgrace. 
And, Bothwell, o'er thy peaceful river, 
Thy bank it blooms as green as pver. 
********* 
There every rock, and stream, and tree. 
Has its wild lay of liberty. 
Inlaid by law, whose sacred charters, 
Embalmed are with the blood of martyrs; 
The savour of whose gracious names 
The ardour of our zeal inflames. 
Like them, supremely to regard 
" The recompence of the reward ;" 
The grace that in the present lies, 
To be reveal'd, when sun and skies, 
And earth, and sea, one destined day. 
Like morning clouds have passed away. 

Such were the characters sublime 
The giants of the olden time. 
Thy Wisharts, Hamiltons, and Mills, 
That, Scotland, over all thy hills, 
Bv their death-fires, awake, in sooth. 



MARTYRLAND AND ITS HEROES. 263 

Thy living light of gospel truth. 

Such were the unshrinking band, led on, 

By him, the dauntless Henderson, 

Who cool, collected, held his seat 

Until he saw the work complete. 

The blessed work of Reformation, • 

Set, fair upon its true foundation, 

The law which is exceeding broad. 

The fix'd, the eternal law of God. 

And when, to please a worthless thing 
As e'er disgraced the name of king, 
A venal, turncoat, drunken crew. 
With treason changed their own free vow, 
Such were the men. thy hills who trode. 
Strong in the love and fear of God, 
Defying through a long dark hour, 
Alike the craft and rage of power. 
Till, by their bright example charmed. 
Even passive cowardice was warmed. 
And dodging, downright selfishness, 
Assum'd the patriot's stern address. 
By which, impressed with awful dread, 
The priest-rid, poltroon tyrant tied. 
Leaving his friends to gaze upon 
A court dissolved, a vacant throne. 



264 POETS OK THE COVENANT. 



MARION PAUL AIRI). 

This gifted lady was born in the city of Glasgow in the 
year 1815, and was a niece of that eccentric poetical clergy- 
man, the Rev. Hamilton Paul. When she had reached 
womanhood she removed to the town of Kilmarnock, and 
in 1846 published ''The Home of the Heart." In 1853 
she brought out " Heart Histories.' ' She has also publish- 
ed " Sun and Shade." Her hymn, " Far Far Away," has 
been widely popular ; and all her writings are pervad- 
ed by a bright religious fervour, and a lofty moral aim. 
Her native Doric was, by her, written with a purity which 
is now somewhat rare in those who attempt to string " The 
Caledonian Harp of Yore, " as will be seen from this one 
stanza of her charming poem,'' The E'enin' Fa':" 

''But, O! there's no a bonnier sight, 

'Mang Scotland's hearths ava. 
Than when, aneath the blinkin' light. 

They kneel at e'enin' fa\ 
For auld an' young maun bend the knee, 

The servant, sire an' a', 



MAKION PAUL AIRD. 265 

Pour forth the holy psalmody — 
A' ane at e'enin' fa' !" 

Miss Aird was never married, and for some years pre- 
vious to her death (which took place four years ago) she 
was confined to her bed fron an injury received by a fall. 
So much was she loved and honoured in Kilmarnock, how- 
ever, that the people of that town and district purchased a 
small annuity for her, which kept her in worldly comfort ; 
while the power of the gospel in her own soul gave her large 
experience of " that peace which passeth understanding,' ' 
till the end came, which was one of holy hope, and quiet, 
unwavering trust in the Redeemer. 



266 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 



THE MARTYRS' GRAVES. 

O! Martyr-sprinkled Scotland! 

Thy covenanted dust, 
Like gold amid our mountains, 

Gleams through tradition's rust. 

We bless the hands that tear away 
Dark weeds from martyr graves, 

And graving o'er time's mossy urns. 
Faith's witness-story saves. 

Thy old grey stones are sprinkled with 
" Blood poured like w^ater free," 

And speak in holy oracles, 
01 martyr-land, to thee. 

These altar stones of sacrifice 
Incarnate truth hath stored, 

Where faith, in love-drawn characters, 
Her red libation poured. 



THE MARTYRS* GRAVES. 267 

Like promise-stars in heaven's eye, 

The lyart and the leal 
Sleep lonely by the heath-bound tarn, 

Where eerie cries the teal. 

Their prophet-mantles rolled in blood, 

By tribulation riven, 
From Scotland's ark drove back the flood 

" That chased them up to heaven;" 

Where Peden bold, in flood and fold, 

On mountain, moor, or glen. 
All seer-like, bore salvation's cup 

To fainting martyr-men; 

When heaven's brooding wing of love, 

Like Israel's pillar-cloud, 
Them lapped in nature's misty tent, 

A prayer- woven shroud. 

Their home was oft the mountain cave ; 

Their couch the waving fern ; 
Their pillow oft the grey moss stone. 

In moorlands dark and stern. 

'Mid bleatings of the mountain lamb, 

The melody of rills. 
The moss-hag, 'mid the purple blooms 

Deep in the heathy hills; 

The old cairn, where the plover wails, 

And fern or thistle waves, 
'Mid green spots in the wilderness — 

There seek the martyrs' graves. 



268 POKTS OF THE COVENANT. 



ROBERT ALLEN. 

This poet was born at Kilbarchan, Renfrewshire, on the 
4th of November, 1774. An early taste for poetry was 
fostered in him by his friend and near neighbour, the gift- 
ed but unfortunate Robert Tannahill, of Paisley, being 
also like him, a weaver to trade. Many of his best songs 
are said to have been composed at the loom, and contrib- 
uted by him to the " Scottish Minstrel," Ipublished by R. A. 
Smith. Not till 1836, however, did he publish a volume. 
Notwithstanding the high excellence of every poem in it, 
it had but an indifferent reception, especially in his native 
town. Soured at an ungrateful, dull and un appreciative 
public, and oadly disappointed in his prospects, and with 
a wounded spirit, he sailed for the United States in 1841, 
when he had reached the age of 67 years. But " a wounded 
spirit," at that age, and in a foreign land, ' ' who can bear ?' ' 
And so the gentle and gifted poet survived the passage 
(mly six days, dying at New York on the 1st July, 1841. 

With that late repentance which nearly always marks 
the people of those towns and districts w^here genius and 
talents have been neglected, the inhabitants of Kilbarchan, 



ROBERT ALLEN. 269 

on the 4th November, 1874, the centeimary of his birth, held 
a centennial anniversary soiree in honour of the poet's mem- 
ory. The outside literary world was now, however, loud 
in praise of the writings of the once despised but long since 
departed poet ; and now, as if they had a right to claim some 
part of that honour which so well belongs to his memory, 
the shop-keeps, the horse-coupers, and the other people of 
his native town generally hold a soiree in his memory, and 
build for him a tardy monument ! 



270 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 



THE COVENANTER'S LAMENT. 

There's nae Covenant noo, lassie! 

There's nae Covenant noo! 
The Solemn League and Covenant 

Are a' broken through ! 
There's nae Renwick noo, lassie! 

There's nae gui'd Cargill ; 
Nor holy Sabbath preaching 

Upon the Mart3^rs' Hill. 

Its naething but a sword, lassie ! 

A bluidy, bluidy ane, 
Waving owre puir Scotland 

For her rebellious sin. 
Scotland's a' wrang lassie! 

Scotland's a' wrang — 
It's neither to the hill nor glen. 

Lassie, we daur gang. 

The Martyrs' Hill's forsaken 
In simmer's dusk sae calm ; 



THE COVENANTER'S LAMENT. 271 

There's nae gathering noo, lassie, 

To sing the sacred psalm ! 
But the martyr's grave will rise, lassie. 

Aboon the warrior's cairn ; 
And the martyr sound will sleep, lassie, 

Aneath the waving fern I 



272 POETHY OF THE COVENANT, 



THE TWA MARTYRS' WIDOWS. 

Sit down, sit down by thy Martyr's side, 

And I'se sit down by mine ; 
And I shall speak o' him to my Gude, 

And thou may speak o' thine. 

It's wae to thee, and it's wae to me. 

For our day o' peace is gane. 
And we maun sit wi' a tearfu' e'e. 

In our borroch-ha"' alane. 

O Scotland! Scotland! it's wae to thee. 
When thy lichts are ta'en awa'; 

And it's wae, it's wae to a sinfu' Ian' 
When the righteous sae maun fa'. 

It was a halie Covenant aith 
We made wi' our Gude to keep. 

And it's for the halie Covenant vow 
That we maun sit and weep. 

O wha will gang to yon hill-side, 
To sing the psalm at e'en? 



THE TWA MARTYKS' WIDOWS. 278 

And wha will speak o' the love o' our Gude? 
For the Covenant hath been. 

The gerse may grow on yon hill-top, 

And the heather sweetly blume; 
But there nae mair we will sit at e'en. 

For our hearts are in the tomb. 

The hectic glow is upo' my cheek, 

And the lily hue on thine; 
Thou sure will lie by thy martyr's side, 

And sure 1 sail sleep by mine. 



18 



274 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 



HUUH BROWN. 

About the beginiiiug of this century Hugli Bro-wii was 
born in the pretty town of Newmihis, in the parish of 
Loudoun, Ayrshire. After a very ordinary education he 
was put to the weaving trade; but while so engaged he 
learned so well and read so much in his evening hours, 
that, after a time, and when still young, he became quali- 
fied to keep a school himself, his first situation being at 
Drumclog in the uplands of Avondale, where the heroic 
Covenanters, under Mr. Robert Hamilton, Balfour of 
Burley, and others, put the cruel and bloody Graham of 
Claverhouse to an ignominious flight in June, 1679. As 
Mr. Brown took his walks there, and under the shadow of 
Loudoun hill, the spirit of poetry came upon him, and there 
he began, and completed his noble poem of ' ' The Cov- 
enanters," in four cantos, w^hich at once gained for him 
no mean place among the poets of Scotland, and ran 
through several editions. In 1838, Mr. Brown became 
head master in the large adventure, Barr School at Galston, 
where he continued a long time. When Avell advanced in 
years, he removed to Lanark ; and by and by, when no 



HUGH BROWN. 275 

longer able to teach, into the city of Glasgow, where he 
began to be in want ; from which, however, he was relieved 
by a handsome money gift from the Eoyal Bounty Fund, 
obtained for him at the earnest solicitation of Mr. A. B. 
Todd, of Cumnock, who knew Mr. Brown, esteemed him 
for his worth, and admired him for his talents. His death 
took place about eight years ago ; but much of his poetry 
will live long in the memories of all patriotic and pious 
Scotsmen. 



270 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 



THE MARTYRDOM OF JOHN BROWN. 

List to the tale of one who faultless fell, 
Whose humble tombstone decks the moorland dell. 

Far on the moor his lonely cot was placed, 
A rude unpolished ^era upon the waste. 
The smoke curled lonely, mid the air on high 
A moment hung and melted in the skj^; 
Where the brook murmured, and the mountain frowned 
Through the far-stretching wilderness around; 
The wild winged denisens of ether sung; 
The shepherd on the breeze his music flung ; 
The sweet toned melody of nature there, 
Thrilled in sweet carols through the summer air. 
The peaceful inmates of that humble hearth. 
Lived like primeval dwellers of the earth, — 
Summer had smiles that charmed the lingering hour, 
With winds perfumed from moss and mountain flower. 
Cloud, sunshine, stream, the daisy on the sod. 
Raised their unoiassed hearts in praise to God. 
When winter swathed the land with unstained snow. 



THE MAKTYRDOM OF JOHN BROWN. 277 

It came the type of holiness below; 
When the unfettered tempest, high and strong, 
llocked the lone cottage as it swept along, 
Trusting in him who guides the storm's career, 
Twas God's own music to the listening ear. 

Cast on the troubled waters of the time, 
When prayer was treason, piety a crime. 
When persecution raised her red right hand, 
To crush the germ of freedom through the land; 
Then oft that cottage light, though faint and far, 
Shone to the wanderer, as the guiding star 
Shines to the sailor on a stormy sea. 
Beaming with hope of happiness to be. 

Summer's first morn had dawned upon the wild, 
And nature's fair and lovely features smiled. 
When pious Brown, with day's first beam arose, 
And called his slumbering children from repose. 
They gathered round the cottage hearth, to raise 
The voice of psalms, the simple song of praise, 
The holy untaught melody of heart. 
Dearer to heaven than all the pomp of art. 
Unheared by human ear the cadence dies, 
Its last faint murmurs mingling with the skies. 
He read of Love, from Mercy's hallowed Book, 
Felt in his heart, and glowing in his look : 
Hoping, exulting o'er the promise given, 
That brightened weeping hours with hopes of heaven; 
Knelt with his children at the eternal throne. 
And pleaded with a fervour not his own ; 
Breathed, from a holy heaven-born influence given. 



278 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

The language of a spirit fit for lieaven; 

His soul entranced with high devotion's glow, 

Forgot he was a sufferer here below — 

Whenlo! a shriek! the startled echoes rang 

With neighing wars-steeds, and the warrior's clang 

Woke him to earth, and drew him from the sky. 

To clasp his weeping family and die. 

Firm in the spirit of his prayer he stood, 

Kesigned, yet fearless; calm, but unsubdued. 

" Prepare!" the dark and fierce avenger cried; 

'' Prepare!" his language, in his hour of pride. 

The good man knelt upon the flowery heath, 
Soon to be crimsoned with the tide of death; 
His farewell prayer of triumph and repose ; 
Heaven's glories dawning o'er his earthly woes. 
In the true martyr's spirit, plead with heaven, 
His death, his country's wrongs might be forgiven. 
And more than angel's eloquence imparts — 
It touched the tearless soldiers* iron hearts; 
And pity checked that dark and bloody horde, 
Save one — the bosom of their savage lord. 
The martyr rose, with calm, unruffled breast, 
Like one prepared for everlasting rest. 
His weeping little ones were clustered near; 
He kissed each child, and dropped a parting tear ; 
A long farewell breathed to his faithful wife ; 
And nature for a moment clung to life! 
When loud and high, the leader's stern command 
Kose fierce, but vain, above that bloody band. 
Though stain'd with slaughter's darkest, foulest hue, 
No arm was raised, no death-winged bullet flew. 



THE MARTYRDOM OF JOHN BROWN. 279 

The ruthless Clavers raised his hand on high, 
Rage in his heart, and mockery in his eye ; 
A moment — and the martj^-ed hero lay 
Redeemed with blood ; his sonl had passed away ! 
From death and insult, springing to a throne, 
The guilt his foe's, the triumph all his own. 

The Theban mother gloried in her son. 
Borne on his shield, from battle he had won; 
The peasant's wife, far on the Scottish moor. 
With none to soothe, did heavier grief endure ; 
The Christian matron, to her nature true, 
Leaned o'er her slaughtered lord, and triumphed too. 



280 rOETS OF THE COVENANT. 



THE RET. JAMES G. SMALL. 

This writer was born in Edinburgh in 1817, his father 
being a military officer. Educated at the High School 
and the University of that city, he was recognized as an 
apt scholar, and a genuine and pleasing poet — two prizes 
being obtained by him from Professor Wilson, of the moral 
philosophy class. 

After receiving license to preach and while yet a pro- 
bationer, he published a volume of poems including "The 
Scottish Martyrs." All the great living poets extoled the 
volume, among them Wordsworth and Lord Macaulay. Oth- 
er volumes followed, and these were also popular. In 1846 
Mr. Small was ordained minister of the Free Church of 
Bervie, near the town of Montrose, where he was as popular 
as a preacher and pastor as he had been as a poet. 

Mr. Small's verse is at all times vivid and animated in 
description, and patriotic in sentiment, displaying ardent 
piety, and noble patriotism. It moves along free and im- 
petuous as does one of his own mountain streams. This 
good man and true poet died a few years ago. 



THE LAND OF THE MARTYRS. 281 



THE LAND OF THE MARTYRS. 

I said mj^ harp should sleep for aj^e— flung by— a useless thing- ; 
I said that thou, my joyous muse, must curl thine eager wing; 
1 said that I must onward press, my pilgrim path along, 
ISTor cheer me. as in days gone by, with the glad voice of song. 

Vain thought for him who strays alone o'er this wild martyr 

land! 
I feel a spell upon me here I may not dare withstand. 
U on th9^3 ^^313^ thit stretch around mine eye unmoved 

should look, 
The murmuring streams would speak to me with sadly mild 

rebuke. 

For still they seem to whisper, as they sweep their pebbled 

bed, 
The names of those who here, of old, for Jesus lived and bled ; 
And still they seem to image, in their pure and peaceful flow. 
The holy lives of those who dwelt beside them long ago. 

Each rock and cave, each woody holm, preserves their mem- 
ory still ; 



282 FOETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

There stands for them a monument in every rugged hill; 
And yet along the mountain side a lingering echo floats, 
Where oft of old their song of praise sent up its joyful notes. 

The old familiar voices upon the breezes come, 
And while all nature speaks aloud, shall man alone, be dumb? 
Ah! no; nor is his voice unheard — the same rejoicing strain 
That gladdened once the wilderness is thrilling there again. 

'Tis heard by Renwick's simple tomb, amid the green Glen- 
cairn ; 

■Tis heard amid the heathy wilds of lone and drear Carsphairn ; 

'Tis heard beside the silvery Ken, and by the banks of Ayr, 

Where Welsh and Guthrie raised of old the voice of praise 
and prayer. 

'Tis heard where lie the bones of him* who lived to preach 

and pray. 
And died with prayer upon his lips amid the bloody fray, 
'Tis heard where pours the winding Nith, and sweeps the 

placid Dee: 
It mingles with the voice of streams, and with the sounding 

sea. 

'Tis heard beside the rude grey stonesf where oft, in days of 

old. 
The holy convocation met, the sacred feast to hold : 



* Cameron, of whom it was said that " he lived preaching and praying, and died 
praying and fighting." 

t Tlie communion stones at Irongray. 



THE LAND OF THE MARTYRS. 283 

Green Anwoth'sJ heights have heard afar the same trium- 
phant song, 
And all the echoing rocks around the hallowed strain prolong. 

'Tis heard where'er the memory lives, of those whose blood 
was shed 

Like water in the glorious cause of Christ, their living Head; 

Where'er a fearless heart shakes off the world's debasing 
bonds, 

And to the known, the thrilling voice of Christ, the King, re- 
sponds. 

'Tis heard from thousand voices now^ of steadfast men and 

true, 
Where once the scattered remnant met— the faithful but the 

few; 
And still more loud that strain shall swell, though hand should 

join in hand, 
From moor to hill, from hill to shore, to drive the dauntless 

band. 

Vain thought, that they whose breasts are warmed with blood 

of martyred sires 
Whose song of praise unsilenced rose, 'mid tortures, chains 

and fires. 
Should shrink because the tempest gloom hangs lowering o'er 

their path, 
Or quail before the ruder storm of man's relentless wrath! 



I Where Samuel Rutherford was for sometime minister. 



284 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

Vain thought, that they whose eyes are fixed, in confidence 

and love^ 
On Him who deigned to leave for them his glorious home 

above, 
And for the joy before h'lWi set such bitter anguish bore. 
Should fear to tread the roughest way which He has trode 

before. 

Ah ! no ; where'er the Shepherd leads, the trusting sheep will 

go, 
Rejoicing still to follow him, because his voice they know; 
And pleasant is the path to them, though rugged oft it be. 
Where yet the footsteps of the flock are traced along the lea 



WILLIAM M'COMB 285 



WILLIAM McCOMB. 

Neither the date of this author's birth or death have we 
been able to ascertain. All that we can state is that he 
was probably born near the beginning of the present cen- 
tury in the north of Ireland, where it would seem he died 
before reaching a very ripe old age. Nor can the date of 
his fine poem, here given, be definitely learned. It is sup- 
posed to have been written somewhere between 1840 and 
1850, while the author was in the prime of life. He was 
a man of magnificent proportions and fine presence, being 
over six feet in height, as described by the father of Mr. 
Isaac Kitcliin, of Wilkinsburg, Pa., who knew him well. 
From the present Mr. Kitchin we learn further that the 
author of this poem was a bookseller in Belfast for many 
years. At the same time he was a member of the large 
and influential congregation connected with the Presby- 
terian church of the Synod of Ulster, of which the famous 
Dr. Cook was pastor. The writer of so admirable a poem 
should be better known. It is hoped that a wider knowl- 
edge of the poem will lead to fuller information concern- 
ing its gifted author. 



286 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 



OUR FATHERS— WHERE ARE THEY I 

Our Fathers, where are they — the faithful and wise J 
They are gone to their mansions prepared in the skies; 
With the ransomed in glorj^ forever they sing. 
All worthy the Lamb, our Redeemer and King. 

Our Fathers, who were they? Men strong in the Lord, 
Who were nurtured and fed with the milk of the Word 
Who breathed in the freedom their Saviour had given, 
And fearlessly waved their blue banner to heaven. 

Our Fathers, how lived they? In fasting and prayer. 
Still grateful for blessing, and willing to share 
Their bread with the hungry, their basket and store. 
Their home with the homeless that came to the door. 

Our Fathers, where knelt they? Upon the green sod. 
And poured out their heart to their covenant God ; 
And oft in the deep glen, beneath the wild sky, 
The songs of their Zion were wafted on high. 



OUR FATHERS — WHERE ARE THEY? 287 

Our Fathers, how died they ? They valiantly stood 
The rage of the foeman, and sealed with their blood, 
By " faithful contendings," the faith of their sires, 
'Mid tortures, in prisons, on scaffolds, in fires. 

Our Fathers, where sleep they? Go search the wild cairn. 
Where the birds of the hill make their nests in the fern ; 
Where the dark purple heather, and bonny blue bell. 
Deck the mountain and moor, where our forefathers fell. 



288 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 



PROF. JOHN TEITCH. 

John Veitch, L.L. D., was boru at Peebles, Oct. 24, 
1829. He came of a Covenanter family famous in the 
days of persecution. One of his ancestors, the Eev. Wm. 
Veitch, born in 1640, was at Pentland Hills, and after the 
battle fled to England, and on returning, defied every at- 
tempt to apprehend him. From a hole or cave on the 
highest peak of Carter Fell he sallied forth at night to 
hold religious services. It was natural, therefore, that 
while Prof Veitch, who graduated at the University of 
Edinburgh in 1851, and soon after became asistant to Sir 
William Hamilton in the chair of logic and metaphysics 
in that University, and in 1864 professor of logic and 
rhetoric in the University of Glasgow, should turn his atten- 
tion to the inspiring history of the Covenanters as well as 
to the drier subjects of dialectics and philosophy. He has 
translated some of Descartes' writings, prepared a memoir 
of Dugald Stewart and another of Sir Wm. Hamilton, 
whose lectures on metaphysics and logic he also helped 
to edit. In addition to such philosophical works he has 
written a preface for the volume of Memorials of the Ettrick 



PROF. JOHN VEITCH. 289 

Shepherd, edited by the poet's daughter, Mrs. Gordon, and 
a book on the " History and Poetry of the Scottish Border," 
and still another entitled " Hillside Rhymes." We give 
here his poem on Andrew Hislop, which first appeared in 
the monthly magazine, " Good Words." 



290 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 



AJ^DREW IIISLOP. 

[One of the proscribed Covenanters, overcome by sick- 
ness, had found shelter in the house of a respectable widow, 
and had died there. The corpse was discovered by the laird 
of Westerhall, a petty tyrant, and an apostate. He pulled 
down the widow's house, left her and her younger children 
to wander in the fields, and dragged Andrew, a lad of 17, 
before Claverhouse. The guns were loaded, and the youth 
was told to pull his bonnet over his face. He refused, and 
stood confronting his murderers with his Bible in his hand. 
" I can look you in the face," he said ; " I have done noth- 
ing of which I need be ashamed. But how will you look 
in that day when you shall be judged by what is written 
in this book ?" He fell dead, and was buried in the moor. 
(See Macaulay's History of England, Vol. I., Chap, iv.) 
The story is found also in Wodrow and the Cloud of Wit- 
ftesses.] 

Andrew Hislop! shepherd lad, 
^.'Martyr" g^raveu on your tomb; 



ANDREW HISLOP. 291 

Here you met the brutal CI avers, 
Here you bore his murderous doom I 

Coming from the hill that ujorn, 

Doing humble duty well; 
Free in step, your honest look, 

Born of sunlight on the fell. 

Here the Eskdale mountains round 3'ou, 
lu 3"our ear the murmuring stream ; 

Here, 't is May, the bleating lambs — 
Life but seems a peaceful dream. 

With no weapon but the crook 

Your soft helpless flock to guide; 
Here they shot you, shepherd lad. 

Here you poured your warn heart tide! 

" Ere I pass into the Presence, 

May I make a prayer to God?" 
" Xot one word," said biutal Clavers, 

" We've no time, you wretched clod ! 

" Draw you bonnet o'er your eyes, 

That is boon enough for thee." 
"' I pass to God with open face, 

Whom yi»u will hardly dare to seel" 

Westerhall and Claverhouse, 

Turn now since the deed is done! 
What care ye for rebel corpse? 

Let it bleach beneath the sun ! 



292 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

So they left you, martyr brave, 
Left you on the reddened sod; 

But no raven touched your face; 
On it lay the peace of God! 

On the moor the widow mother 
Bows to lot of dule and pine; 

And Westerhall and Claverhouse 
Have merrliy rode back to dine! 



JAMES HOGG. 



293 



JAMES HOOG. 

[We are indebted for the first part of thisMemoir to the 
Life of the Ettrick Shepherd, by Dr. Shelton Mackenzie, in 
his fine edition of the " Noctes Ambrosianae." This last 
star in the constellation of our Covenant Poets is one of the 
first magnitude.] 

James Hogg, commonly called " The Ettrick Shepherd," 
was born on the 25th of Jannary, 1772, in a cottage on the 
banks of the Ettrick, a tributary of the Tweed, in Selkirk- 
shire, a mountainous and picturesque part of Scotland. 

He died on the 21st of November, 1835, in the sixty- 
fourth year of his age. His mother, who literally had 
taught herself to read the Bible, possessed a natural taste 
for poetry. It was her daily habit to read from the Bible 
such passages as she thought likely to interest and improve 
her sons. She would also recite to them Border ballads, 
and often win them to tears by the simple relation of tales 
of sorrow and tenderness of days not far remote, and with- 
in their own locality. 

When James was seven years old he was compelled to 



294 POETS OF THE COVENANT. 

go to service. His occupation was to herd a few cows for 
a neighbouring farmer. His wages for the half year was 
a ewe lamb and a pair of new shoes. In the first winter 
he returned home and had three months' schooling. H^. 
got into a class so for advanced that they could read the 
Bible. He tried writing, but each letter was nearly an 
inch in length. Nor, to his dying day, did he write well. 
His whole course of school education was obtained in six 
months at this time. " After this," he says of himself, 
" I was never another day at any school whatever." 

During the whole time of Hogg's service as a herdsman, 
up to 1790, when he was eighteen years of age, he had no 
book to read except the Bible and the version of the Psalms 
of David used by the Scottish church. He then hired 
himself to Mr. Laidlaw, of Black House, whom he served 
as a shepherd for ten years. 

In the spring of 1796, at the age of twenty-four, Hogg 
made his first attempt at writing verse. Most of his poetry 
is pastoral, as might be expected. But his surroundings 
on the mountains, and in the moorlands, together with the 
traditions with which he became familiar, and specially those 
of his own ancestry, who had suffered persecution as Cov- 
enanters among the wilds of Ettrick, could hardly fail to 
call forth strains suited to this volume. 

Prof Wilson, in his " Noctes," puts the following words 
into the mouth of the shepherd poet: *' I look to the moun- 
tains, Mr. North, and stern they staun' in a gloriousgloom, for 
the sun is strugglin' wi' a thunder-cloud, and facing him 
a faint but fast-brightenin' rainbow. The ancient spirit o' 
Scotland comes on me frae the sky ; and the soul within 
me re- swears in silence the oath of the Covenant. There 
they are — the Covenanters — a' gathered thegither, no in 



JAMES HOGG. 205 

fear and tremblin', but wi' Bibles in their bosoms, and 
swords by their sides, in a glen deep as the sea, and still as 
death but for the soun' o' a stream and the cry o' an eagle. 
' Let us sing to the praise and glory o' God the hundred 
Psalm,' quoth a loud clear voice, though it be the voice o' 
an auld man ; and up to Heaven bauds he his Strang wither 
«ed hauns, and in the gracious wunds o' heaven are flying 
abroad his gray hairs, or say ratter, white as the silver or 
the snaw. The eagle and the stream are silent, and the 
heavens and the earth are brocht close thegither by that 
triumphin' Psalm. Ay, the clouds cease their sailing and 
lie still ; the mountains bow their heads ; and the crags, 
do they not seem to listen as in that remote place the hour 
o' the delighted day is filled with a holy hymn to the Lord 
God o' Israel?" (See Nodes, vol. iii., pp. 394, 395.) 

In his famous " Brownie o' Bodsbeck," Hogg illustrates 
the days of persecution. The " brownie" himself was a 
proscribed Covenanter. Others of the [Ettrick Shepherd's 
prose writings are also Covenanting tales, such as " The 
Cameronian Preacher's Talk," " A Tale of Pentland," and 
"A Tale of the Martyrs." AVe give a fine selection on 
" The Land of the Covenant," and one of the poet's most 
touching songs. 



296 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 



THE LAND OF THE COVENANT. 

Far inland, where the mountain crest 
O'erlooks the waters of the west; 
And, 'midst the moorland wilderness. 
Dark moss-cleuchs form a drear recess, 
Curtained with ceaseless mists that feed 
The sources of the Clyde and Tweed — 
There injured Scotland's patriot band 
For faith and freedom made their stand. 
When traitor Kings, who basely sold 
Their country's fame for Gallic gold — 
Too abject o'er the free to reign. 
Warned by a father's fate in vain— 
In bigot fury trampled down 
The race who oft preserved their crown : 
There, worthy of his masters, came 
The despots' champion, bloody Graham, 
To stain for aye a warrior's sword, 
And lead a fierce, though fawning horde, 
The human bloodhounds of the earth, 
To hunt the peasant from his hearth. 



THE LAND OF THE COVENANT. 297 

Tyrants ! could not misfortune teach 
That man has rights beyond your reach? 
Thought ye the torture and the stake 
Could that intrepid spirit break, 
Which even in woman's breast withstood 
The terrors of the fire and flood? 
Yes — though the sceptic's tongue deride 
Those martyrs who for conscience died ; 
Though modish history blight their fame, 
And sneering courtiers hoot the name 
Of men who dared alone be free 
Amidst a nation's slavery, 
Yet long for them the poet's lyre 
Shall wake its notes of heavenly fire; 
Their names shall nerve the patriot's hand, 
Upraised to save a sinking land. 
And piety shall learn to burn 
With holier transports o'er their urn. 

But now, all sterner thoughts forgot, 
Peace broods upon the peasant's cot; 
And if tradition still prolongs 
The memory of his father's wrongs, 
'Tis but the grateful thought that borrows 
A blessing from departed sorrows. 
How lovely seems the simple vale 
Where lives our sires' heroic tale! 
The mossy pass, the mountain flood, 
Still hallowed by the patriot's blood ; 
The rocky cavern, once his tent. 
And now his deathless monument, 
Rehearsing to the kindling thought 



298 POETRY OF THE COVEi^AN'r. 

What Faith inspired and Valour wrought! 

Oh, ne'er shall he whose ardent prime 

Was fostered in the freeman's clime, 

Though doomed to seek a distant strand, 

Forget his glorious native land; 

Forget — 'mid Brahma's blood-stained groves- 

Those sacred scenes of youthful loves ; 

Sequestered haunts — so still, so fair. 

That holy Faith might worship there, 

And Error weep away her stains, 

And dark Remorse forget his pains ; 

And homeless hearts, by fortune tost. 

Or early hopeless passion crost, 

Regain the peace they long had lost. 



THE COVENANTER'S SCAFFOLD HYMN. 209 



THE COVENANTER'S SCAFFOLD HYMN. 

[This " Scaffold Hymn" gives the substance of the ut- 
terances of many a sufferer in immediate view of the mar- 
tyr's crown. It forms an appropriate conclusion to this 
collection of Poems of the Covenant. It will serve to in- 
spire the reader, as he lays down this volume, with a re- 
newed determination to count all things loss for Christ, and 
to endure hardness as a good soldier of the Saviour King, 
With^heavenly portals opening, and Christ in all his king- 
ly glory welcoming, shall we not prove faithful unto death ?] 

Sing with me, sing with me, sing with me! 

Friends in Jesus, sing with me ; 

All my sufferings, all my woe, 

All my griefs I here forego. 

Farewell, terror, sighing, grieving. 

Praying, hearing and believing, 

Earthly trust and all its wrongings. 

Earthly love and all its longings. 

Sing with me, sing with me, sing with me. 

Friends in Jesus, sing with me! 



300 POETRY OF THE COVENANT. 

Sing with me, sing with me, sing with me! 
Blessed spirits, sing with me : 
To the Lamb oiir song shall be 
Through a glad eternity. 
Farewell, earthly morn and even, 
Sun, and moon, and stars of heaven. 
Heavenly portals, ope before me; 
Welcome Christ, in all Thy glory! 
Sing with me, sing with me, sing with me, 
Blessed spirits, sing with me! 

THE END. 



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